Promises Mistaken
by The SARS Entity
Summary: In Chapter 10 of Promises Unbroken, James Potter infiltrates Azkaban. However, what he finds is not what he expects—and when threatened with something more important to him than his own life, can he deny Voldemort what the Dark Lord desires most?
1. Part One: A Matter of Method

**Promises Mistaken**

**The Alternate Unbroken Universe.**

**Introduction and Warning:**

            Almost all stories begin with the question of "What If?"  _Promises Unbroken_, which began the Unbroken Universe, is a classic example of this question.  _Promises Mistaken_ is what happens when an author faces a choice, and both roads are equally promising.  Chapter 10 of _Promises Unbroken_ was such a choice for me.  

Some of you may remember the short scene in Chapter 10 ("To Thine Own Self Be True") when Arabella and James argue about who is going to infiltrate Azkaban. Arabella, as we all know, wins—but for a long while, I was going to let James go. _Promises Mistaken_ expounds upon that.  
  


If you haven't read Promises Unbroken, this story will make very little sense to you.  You will not understand how James and Lily Potter live, how Lord Voldemort has come to own Azkaban, or how Albus Dumbledore is the Minister of Magic.  If you are entirely unfamiliar with the Unbroken Universe, I suggest that you read, at the very least, the first ten chapters of Promises Unbroken.  The UU, however, expands far beyond that, including stories by several authors, three of which form "The SARS entity" that is responsible for Promises Mistaken.  If you're extraordinarily curious about us, please check out our profile, or the UU Yahoo!Group at . 

            And now, without further ado, Robin4, Telepwen, and Sailor Sol present:

**Part One: A Matter of Method**

"I'll do it, James," Arabella said quietly, and watched her former student's hazel eyes widen in surprise.  Sunlight was pouring through the nearby window, and it was a welcome sight; they had both, after all, been at work since dawn, especially considering the raids that were planned for that evening.  The light made James look younger than he was, almost like he'd been when she'd first met him over thirteen years ago, but it didn't hide his unhappiness.  Before the Auror's self control could reassert itself, his mouth managed to drop open, and James stared at her as if she'd grown a second head.  A moment passed before he began to speak, but she cut him off.  After all, she knew exactly what he was going to say.

"You, of all people, certainly cannot do this," the head of Magical Law Enforcement said sternly.  "You know that, James."

"Why not?" he managed, still staring at her.

She was sitting casually on his desk in a way that most women her age wouldn't be caught doing.  Arabella had initially come to hear out the finalized version of James' Azkaban Plan—codenamed ICEBREAKER—but hadn't been surprised at all when he'd volunteered himself.  She knew him better than that, and knew the risks far better than he did.  Maybe it was simply an advantage of age.  "Well, aside from the fact that Lily would kill me, there's the fact of who you are." 

He opened his mouth to argue, but she overrode him easily—and gently.

"People need heroes, James.  Face the fact that you are one to the Wizarding world.  We can't afford to lose you; not now."  She began to continue, but James cut her off.

"It's my plan, 'Bella.  My crazy idea."  He looked her in the eye, and she saw a determination that that couldn't be denied.  "I can't ask anyone to do something that I won't do first…"

Arabella swallowed hard.  "And if you fail?"

"Then I die.  It's a risk that I'm willing to take."  James' voice was far colder than she'd expected it to be, and Arabella's arguments melted to ash in her mouth.  He _did _know the risks, and he faced them anyway.  She swallowed hard.

"I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"No."  Her onetime student smiled grimly.   "We can argue about it all you want, but in the end, the result will be the same.  I _have _to go, 'Bella.  I can't ask anyone else to do this.  I just can't."


	2. Day One

**Promises Mistaken**

**The Alternate Unbroken Universe.**

Day One 

            James opened his eyes groggily, and the first sensation he registered was pain.  His body ached everywhere, wanted to shake and tremble in exhaustion.  The second thing he sensed was the darkness and dank despair of Azkaban.  His soul cried out in terror immediately, responding with an Auror's instinctive despair, yet his intellect fought the feeling, and rejoiced.  He'd done it.  Head of the Auror Division and member of the Order's Inner Circle he might be, but he had done it.  He had successfully infiltrated the Wizard's prison, had entered Voldemort's stronghold and had brought weapons inside.  Impossible, most had called his risky plan; foolhardy, all had named it.  But against all odds, he had succeeded.

            The deep breath that he meant to banish his lingering fears, though, did not quite work as planned.  He was too cold.

            James blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings.  It was hard, and very dark; again, he shivered, colder than he ever remembered being.  His mind knew enough to attribute that feeling to the Dementors' effects, but even then, there was no fighting or denying the cold.  James had never before been in a Dementor's presence without a wand, and it was frightening.  He was too cold.

            Finally, his vision cleared, and he quickly assessed the situation.  He had a week in which he had to survive before he could act, and he knew that wouldn't be easy.  Perhaps Arabella had been correct in thinking that his coming was far too much of a risk, but then again, James knew he was excellent bait.  Voldemort hated him with a passion that was surpassed only (perhaps) by his loathing for Albus Dumbledore.  Their enmity was personal, now, after James had been leading the Aurors' efforts against the Dark Lord for so long.  And perhaps it was natural, too: it seemed only fitting for the Heir of Gryffindor to fight the Heir of Slytherin.

            Those thoughts were banished in order to gage his position.  Peering around his small cell (it couldn't have been more than six feet by six feet in size) and through the small barred doorway, James quickly realized that he was in one of the prison's highest security cells.  In fact, if memory served him correctly, he was the current occupant of Cell Number 2, which was the second most protected cell in the entire prison.  Once, it had been home to Bellatrix Lestrange after her capture in 1981.  Now, apparently, it was his own.  _Temporarily, _James reminded himself.  He tried to smile, but failed dismally as he shivered again.  

            Slowly, he struggled to his feet, stumbling and reprimanding himself for being so foolish.  Of course, he knew better than to try and stand right away; the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse made him weak and unbalanced in addition to the pain.  He couldn't exactly remember how many he'd been struck with before he finally passed out, nor could he remember how long he was under, but James knew it would be bad.  It would be hours before the results passed—assuming, of course, that he didn't encounter something far worse during that time.

            The thought brought coldness, and as James shivered, he instinctively backed away from the huge steel door that guarded his cell.  Shadows moved outside, and he heard a rasping breath.  It was the sound of death approaching.

            Bracing himself didn't help.

            _"Sirius is gone, James—"_

_            "What?"  The question exploded from him, but he already knew what it must mean._

_            Every word seemed to cause Remus pain, and the haunted, frightened eyes made a lie out of Remus' usual calm.  "There were signs of a struggle—it was Death Eaters, it had to be—I've told Dumbledore, and we're trying to—"_

"No!" _His heart broke.  Snapped in two.  Shattered.  He'd led his best friend to his death._

            Cold hands grasped him, and his mind reeled.  Memories assaulted him, overtook his consciousness and denied him the ability to remember where he was, who he was, or even what he might bother fighting for.  _Lily._

_            Unconscious.  Bleeding and near dead.  Death Eaters had tried to capture her, had almost succeeded, no matter how hard she'd fought.  They had wanted her because Voldemort wanted her, needed Lily to get _him.  _She was meant to be the bait, and nearly died because of it… St. Mungo's still didn't know if she'd live.  James felt his world shattering as he held a three-year-old Harry in his arms, who cried because he didn't understand why his mother would not answer._

_            And in the next bed over was Remus, with whom she'd been sharing lunch, and who had very nearly died to save her life._

_            In James' nightmares Remus always died.  In his nightmares, he lost them both._

_            Just like he'd lost Sirius._

            Was he screaming?  A cold voice almost made him aware for a moment, but there were cold, cold hands lifting him—a rattling breath sounded in his ears, and James struggled to focus.  Even as the Dementors dragged him forward, he heard Voldemort laugh.

            Travel to the interrogation room was a blur.  It was dark and pain, coldness and memories.  Every inch of the way, James struggled to regain control of himself, knowing that he'd need every bit of awareness and courage that he could muster to face down the Dark Lord.  Voldemort would expect him to crack, to break, but he couldn't afford to.  He had to be strong, to protect the Order's secrets…not to mention the brave witches and wizards who worked for him in the Auror Division.  He couldn't betray them.  He had to be strong.

            He was struggling to regain control of his breathing when the Dementors forced him down into an interrogation chair, and before James could even think about fighting, burning hot chains wrapped around his legs, arms, chest, and neck.  He choked once, trying to breathe around the sudden tightness in his throat, but the high-pitched laughter coming from before him reminded James that he had much bigger problems to worry about.

            He forced his eyes open.

            "James Potter," Voldemort whispered.  "The invincible, unconquerable, and indomitable James Potter.  Welcome to Azkaban, _Gryffindor_."

            The red eyes were very hard to meet, but he did so defiantly.  He'd be dammed if he'd break.  Not now; not ever.

            "Nothing to say, Potter?" the Dark Lord mocked him.

            "No."

            Laughter filled the room, and that was when he realized that they weren't alone.  Standing at opposite corners of the room were Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Voldemort's two sickest and most loyal adherents.   Their presence, he knew, was a very bad sign, especially where his future health was concerned.  Voldemort smiled, though.  "I suspect that will change soon enough."

            "I'm sure you'd like to think so," James replied before he thought the better of it.  As much as he'd like to be defiant and brave, he knew that doing so could only make this week the longest and most painful one of his life—

            _"Crucio!"_

            James screamed as his body writhed and buckled in pain, held fast by the chains and with nowhere to go.  Immediately, his vision went red, and it felt like every nerve ending in his body was exploding.  He knew time was passing, but he was beyond caring now.  All that mattered was the pain.  He could think of nothing else.  James had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse before, it had never been so bad; he had never been under so long.  His body convulsed in a desperate effort to escape the agony, but the chains kept him from even that way out.  All that existed was burning pain.

            Finally, it ended, and he slumped in exhaustion, shaking.  Before his vision refocused, though, Voldemort spoke.  Somehow, the hissing voice seemed as if the Dark Lord was speaking right inside his head.

            "I know you're not ready to give in yet, Potter," Voldemort whispered.  "This was just a lesson in manners."  The virulent chuckle sounded more like a hiss.  "Remember, though, that everyone breaks.  It is only a matter of time and method."

            James forced his eyes open and found himself staring directly into the monster's red eyes.  Voldemort's face was only inches away from his own, and despite himself, James recoiled.  Still, he tried to project strength into his voice.  "I don't care what you do to me," he replied.  "I will not betray my friends."

            "I've heard that before," Voldemort chuckled.  Suddenly, a cold hand patted him gently on the left cheek, making James struggle to pull away even though he knew that the chains wouldn't let him.  "And in the end, James, I think you will betray them.  In fact, you will do everything I ask, including serve me."

            "Never."  But fear stole into his gut.  He had been offered this power once, and had refused—what could possibly make Voldemort think that he would accept this time?  What was he missing?

            "Never is a very, _very_ long time…"  Cold, stale breath blew on his face.

            "Not long enough," he growled.  Yet something was wrong, and James felt truly afraid now.

            Voldemort smiled.  "Perhaps."  He stepped away, turning to face the door.  "But then perhaps not.  _Bring him in_."

            James blinked in confusion as two Dementors entered the room, knowing that the torture curse's aftereffects were slowing his brain.  Between them, the Dementors half-carried, half-dragged a limp wizard, whose robes were tattered rags and whose emaciated form was covered in blood.  As they dropped him to the floor, James caught a glimpse of tangled and filthy black hair that framed a gaunt and bruised face—but he would have recognized the tense and pained features anywhere.  Even though his mind could hardly believe it, his heart cried out the truth.

            _"Sirius!"_

            Pale blue eyes flickered open, and James saw cracked and bleeding lips start to move, but he was never given the chance.

            _"Crucio!"_

            Sirius screamed hoarsely, and his body jerked off the floor in pain, landing hard on the concrete with a sickening crunch.  James, too, was screaming, shouting desperately for Voldemort to stop, yelling obscenities and insults at the Dark Lord in the vain hope that Voldemort might focus on him instead—but Bellatrix Lestrange's Silencing Charm hit him, and even as his mouth moved furiously, no sound came out.  After a moment, James stopped trying, and could only watch helplessly as his best friend screamed in pain.

            Voldemort held him under the curse for a long while.  When it finally ended, James had eyes only for Sirius, who lay shaking sickly on the floor, his breathing ragged and strained.  James' mind still hadn't caught up with his eyes, but he knew that this was no lie.  Sirius was almost unrecognizable: he was as thin as a skeleton, bruised, battered and bloodied beyond anything James had ever seen before.  His arms were bound behind him, but the right was bent at an odd angle, obviously broken.  Likewise was his right leg, which James could see was swollen unnaturally and bleeding badly from the knee down.  A deep cut covered the back of that shin, and James thought he caught sight of the bone sticking out.

            "You bastard," he whispered.

            Somewhere in there, the Silencing Curse must have been withdrawn, because Voldemort turned to him with a smile, having clearly heard the anguish in his voice.  "Is 'never' long enough to watch your best friend suffer even more?"

            On the floor, Sirius coughed weakly, moaning softly in pain.  James felt so helpless, bound in the chair and unable to move, to act—and this was his best friend lying on the floor in that puddle of blood, the best friend he'd sent to death ten years before…_Oh, God… I can't _do _this! Sirius…_ He stared at his friend, scarcely able to believe that he was even there, that Sirius had lived for so long… _Voldemort has kept him alive, and for ten years he has suffered_.  Tears clouded James' vision, but he was incapable of caring.  _How could we not know?  How could I abandon him to this hell?_

            "Do you really want him to go through more?" Voldemort asked quietly, standing very close to him once again.

            "You know I don't," James whispered painfully.

            "Then agree to serve me."  He made it sound so simple, and James felt his heart buckle under the onslaught of choice.

            He blinked, and a tear trickled down his cheek.  "I can't…" 

            _"Crucio."_

            Again, the curse was aimed not at him, but at Sirius, who shrieked weakly in agony. James saw red, and the mixture of worry, pain, and anger made his temper spring loose.  He struggled blindly against his chains, not caring about the pain, only that he had to do something, anything, to help Sirius. 

            "Goddamn you!" he shouted furiously.  "Leave him alone!  What the hell do want me for anyway?  Leave him _alone!_"

            At Voldemort's nod, Bellatrix Lestrange raised her wand and spoke in a cold voice.  _"Crucio!"_

            Her curse struck Sirius as well, and James had never heard a man scream the way his friend was screaming now.  His body leapt off the floor as the second curse hit, twisting in midair and flipping him over to his face.  James' first instinct drove him to howl further at the Dark Lord, but desperation stopped him in time.  Sirius' body was already writhing and jerking under the influence of two Cruciatus Curses; James was terrified what would happen to him if Voldemort signaled Rodolphus Lestrange to cast a third.  He knew enough to know that much more or much longer would kill any man, especially one in Sirius' weakened condition.

            Hours seemed to pass before it ended, but James knew it hadn't really been that long.  Wet tears stung his cheeks as he watched his best friend tortured, hearing as Sirius' screams faded from weakness until they were only soft cries issued from his convulsing form.  Finally, though, Voldemort exchanged a glance with Bellatrix, and both turned their wands aside.  On the floor, Sirius was barely breathing, and James could hear the agony each gasp for air caused.

            "Don't do this," James pleaded.

            "Ah, but I can do whatever I please," Voldemort replied, strolling towards him.  "Surely you have realized that by now?"

            James remained silent, struggling to blink the tears away.  He had eyes only for Sirius, who lay still now aside from his body's erratic shaking, breathing in pained gasps.  Voldemort stopped immediately in front of him, bending over so they were face to face once more.

            "There is a thin line between torture and insanity," he said softly.  "However, we have had ample time to practice on your friend.  I have kept him alive, Potter, in preparation for this day.  He will live as long as I desire, and suffer for every moment that you defy me."  The Dark Lord smiled.  "I know that you do not care about your own pain.  But what about someone who is more important to you than your own life?  Will your principles survive watching him tortured?"

            James could only stare past Voldemort at Sirius' shaking form.  So many questions warred for precedence in his mind, which whirled madly under the pressure.  A part of him still couldn't believe that Sirius was alive; it had taken James years to accept his best friend's death, and a lifetime had seemed to pass before he could come to terms with the fact that Sirius was gone.  But now his world had been turned upside down.  Sirius hadn't died—Voldemort had kept him alive.  But was he truly alive?  Was he whole?  Could any man survive a decade in the Dark Lord's hands without shattering completely, breaking in heart and soul?  

            _But if he's broken, why haven't we seen him before now?_ a small voice inside his head asked.  Surely, Voldemort would have used him if he were able… Could anyone, even Sirius, ever be that strong?  He'd always _known_ that Sirius had died without breaking, had never betrayed him—yet this was something else.  Something frightening.

            "Make your decision quickly or watch him suffer more."

            James blinked.  He was staring at Sirius, praying for any sign of _life_, of proof that his friend remained more than merely physically alive.  But even if Sirius was utterly crushed, could James bear to see him hurt more?  He swallowed hard.  "But why do you want me so much?"

            "You know the answer to that, Potter," Voldemort hissed.  "Do not try to stall."

            And he did.  Arabella's argument came quickly to mind, and James knew she was right.  Even though he had never desired to be one, he was a hero to the Wizarding world.  He, and a few other key figures—like Dumbledore, Arabella, and Remus—were symbols now as much as they were human.  They were looked to as an example, expected to lead by not only power but also by example…and if he turned to serve the Dark Lord (publicly, no doubt), it would shatter confidence and destroy hope.

            That, and he knew almost everything there was to be known about the Order of the Phoenix, and could almost single-handedly destroy the only chance that the light side had in this bloody war, which had been going on for over twenty years.

            _But Sirius…_ Voldemort was right.  He could not bear to watch him suffer, and Sirius' breathing was becoming more and more strained.

            The Dark Lord began to smile.  "I…" James whispered, swallowing hard.  He'd hate himself for whatever he did, but Sirius was more than his brother, and he'd already abandoned him once.  "I—"

            "James…" The rasped whisper made every head in the room turn to stare.  Sirius coughed up blood.  "Don't…"

            _"Crucio!"_  Bellatrix shouted even as James howled in protest.

            "No!"

            Sirius screamed weakly, and James' heart hammered into his throat.  Sirius was in there, somewhere, surviving against all odds, and somehow he was still sane enough to understand what was at stake—and refuse it.  An irrational part of James wanted to scream at his friend in fury, wanted to tell him that he didn't deserve this and that James didn't care what it cost to free him…but he couldn't.  Sirius had always fought for the same cause he did, and James knew that they would both willingly die for those beliefs.  Now Sirius had taken the choice out of James' hands.

            And was suffering for it.

            He was too weak to last long, now, though, and thirty seconds hadn't gone by before Sirius passed out.  James started to sigh in relief, but then Voldemort spoke to 

Bellatrix over his shoulder, while his red eyes remained focused on James.  "Revive him."

            "Damn you," he whispered.

            The Dark Lord smiled.  "There are many ways to make him suffer," the monster said softly.  "Ones with less risk of insanity than the Cruciatus Curse and yet still as much pain.  He knows them all…and if you think that you have never seen your friend afraid, I will prove you wrong."

            James closed his eyes.  Bellatrix was on her third effort to revive Sirius, and it still hadn't worked.  Still, though, a corner of his mind rebelled.  _You're wrong,_ he thought distantly.  _I have seen him afraid.  Once._  But it had been a long time ago, and never of pain.  He didn't want to believe it, but any man, after ten years—ten years like this—he swallowed hard.

            "How much will you have him suffer?"

            His heart wanted him to give in.  This was his friend lying on the floor, a fellow Marauder, his _brother._  Sirius was slowly regaining consciousness and was moaning in pain…James could see him shaking already in pain, and watched Sirius flinch as Bellatrix kicked him over to his back.  He so wanted to give in.…but he couldn't betray Sirius that way.  Not after he'd fought so long against such odds.

            James bit his lip, but remained silent.

            Fury blossomed on Voldemort's face, and a cold hand reached out to grab his chin.  "You will regret this," the Dark Lord hissed.  His grip tightened until pain flared up James' jaw and he could hardly breathe.  Suddenly, though, both Voldemort and the chains released him, but before James could react, two Dementors grasped his arms and pulled him upright.  His world swirled and James went cold, hearing screams and memories echo in his ears.  Still, though, he could make out the hissed command.  "Put him in his cell.  He can listen to his friend scream."

-----------------

            There was no way of judging how much time passed, but this time it _was hours.  Throughout it all, James sat in the back corner of his cell with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them.  His own lingering pain went unnoticed.  He didn't even notice the distant cold of the Dementors.  All that registered upon James' consciousness was Sirius' screams._

            He almost wished that he was still there so he at least might know what was happening.  Sitting alone and clueless in the dark was pure torture; knowing that Sirius was being hurt and not even able to be there for his friend was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced.  James had never felt so helpless in his life.  He'd never felt so heartbroken or guilty, either.

            After an eternity, the screams quieted, and finally died out all together.  James shivered and swallowed, wondering if Sirius had passed out and they were simply reviving him again to cause him more pain.  But there was nothing for a long while, and he began to hope they'd finished.  A part of him wanted to fear the worst, but he knew that if Sirius had died, he would have been one of the first to know.  Voldemort knew how that would break his heart… James closed his eyes.  _Just a week, Sirius, _he thought desperately.  _Hold out for one more week_.  His heart began pounding in his ears.  Surely Sirius could last a week.  He'd made it ten years, after all… But James was afraid.  He didn't know how much longer Voldemort would keep his friend alive.

            The cell door creaked loudly on its hinges, making his eyes fly open and his head jerk up.  Immediately, a freezing cold started to creep in on him as two Dementors entered his cell—but it almost vanished behind emotion and shock as they dropped their burden onto the floor.  Sirius hit with a sickening crunch, barely breathing and shaking madly.  He was curled up painfully on his side, and his features were tight and drawn.  Just as before, he was struggling for air, and James watched him flinch as one of he Dementors seemed to drift closer for a moment.  James held his breath, waiting and wondering, trying to understand why in the world Voldemort would have Sirius brought here—

            And then the Dementors left, and James ceased to wonder about any of the Dark Lord's motivations.  All that mattered was Sirius, and James quickly moved forward to kneel at his friend's side.

            "Sirius?" he whispered, carefully placing a hand on his friend's left arm.  But Sirius shuddered and tensed, flinching away from the gentle touch.

            For a moment, James stared, horrified and not understanding.  He'd hardly started to wonder what was wrong, though, before he realized what the problem had to be.  His heart sank painfully.  _How long has it been since he hasn't had to equate human touch with pain?_  James thought sickly.  _He's been so alone for so long… It's no wonder that he assumes he'll be hurt._

            "It's okay, Sirius," he whispered over the lump in his throat, desperate to break past ten years of hell.  "It's me. It's James."

            A long moment passed in which he began to fear Sirius couldn't reply.  Finally, though, his friend coughed weakly.  "Ja…"

            "Don't try to talk, mate," he whispered quickly as Sirius winced.  Speaking clearly caused him pain.

            "James…" Again, he coughed painfully.  His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in a long time, too—_Ten years.  Oh, God…ten years—"Don't…give him what he wants…"_

            James swallowed.  "I won't," he whispered.

            "Promise me."  Sirius' blue eyes finally flickered open and met his with something very close to desperation.  "I didn't come this far…to watch you give up everything."

            "I'm not letting you die," he whispered, then swallowed again.  "But I promise."

            Sirius coughed again, and shuddered in pain.

            "Can I do anything for you?" James asked quietly. 

            "No…" Pain was still etched into his features, and James had never seen eyes so haunted.  "But it's nice not to be alone."

            "You're not alone."  James wished he could do or say something more, even grasp his friend's hand, but Sirius' arms were still bound cruelly behind his back. He bit his lower lip then spoke again, the words coming out in a giant rush.  "Sirius…I'm so sorry.  I never meant for this to happen to you.  I'd have gladly died if it would have saved you this pain."  

            "Don't."  Sirius shuddered.  His breathing was coming in wheezes.

            "But—"

            "Please," the rasping whisper cut him off.  "I made my choice.  I don't…hate you for it."

            "You ought to," he replied glumly.

            "I can't."  Sirius coughed.  "I won't."

            "I'm so sorry we didn't find you sooner, that we didn't know…" James voice cracked.  "I thought you were dead." 

            "Not…yet."

            And there was nothing he could think to say to that.  Nothing at all.  Lost, James shifted to a sitting position and gently pulled Sirius' head into his lap.  He had to _do something—and although his friend tensed at first, seemingly out of habit, after a moment, Sirius relaxed.  "Not yet," James whispered fiercely.  "Not ever."_

            His gaze met Sirius' and their eyes locked; James tried to communicate every sense of urgency, tried to burn his purpose into Sirius' eyes so that he could be understood without speaking.  _One week.  Just one week… _

            "Promise me you'll hold on, Sirius," he asked desperately.  "Just a little bit longer."

            His best friend stared at him with haunted and pain filled eyes.  Finally, he replied, "I'll survive…"

            James opened his mouth to demand a promise, but the anguish in Sirius' voice stopped him.

            "I always do."

            He felt empty.  There were no words to say to the flat and pained despair he heard, nothing that he could do to lessen his friend's pain.  He'd never felt so helpless, so guilty.  Bitter self-reproach welled up within him.  "This is all my fault."

            "No, it's not."  He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud before Sirius answered.  "Don't blame yourself."

            "Then who should I blame?" James asked bitterly.

            "Please, James…" his voice was growing weaker and there was something downright frightened in his eyes.  "I don't…have the strength to argue with you…now."

            It was the eyes that got him, and James saw Sirius' desperate need for companionship, recognized the loneliness that he'd lived with for far too long.  They didn't need to have this argument.  There shouldn't be anything between them.  What Sirius needed now wasn't someone to blame; he needed someone to help him survive.  "I'm sorry," he apologized, feeling stupid.  "I'll shut up."

            "Thanks."  Once, Sirius would have smiled.  Now, there was only pain in his eyes.

            "Just hold on for me, Padfoot," he replied quietly.  The old nickname, however, didn't have the positive effect he'd hoped for, and a deep shadow crossed over his friend's face.  Suddenly, Sirius shuddered.  

"No…"

"What is it?" James touched Sirius' shoulder worriedly when there was no immediate reply; Sirius' body was shaking madly, and his eyes were tightly shut once again.  "Sirius?"

"Dementors…" he rasped.

"You can feel them all ready?" James knew that Sirius had always possessed a feel for Dark Magic, but he'd never heard of someone growing more attuned to Dementors' presence over time... He didn't feel anything yet, but James could feel Sirius growing cold.

"_No…"_

Sirius shuddered again, and James searched desperately for some way to help him.  He could not help but pray that his friend was wrong, but he knew in his heart that Sirius wasn't, and that he had to do something.  Anything.  Finally, as he began to feel the approaching coldness himself, James took a chance.  Carefully lifting his friend, he wrapped his arms around Sirius from behind, pulling him close to his chest as Sirius struggled to fight back a decade's worth of nightmares.

"Stay with me, mate," he whispered.

Sirius' body was shaking so hard that it was nearly convulsing.  "No…" he repeated, caught in the memories already.  "Don't…"

"I'm here for you, Sirius.  You're not alone."  Desperately, James fought his own demons back.  Screams and voices echoed in his mind, but he couldn't afford to face them now.  Sirius needed him.  "Can you hear me, Sirius?  You're not alone."

There was a moment of hesitation before Sirius seemed to recognize his presence.  "James?" he gasped.

"It's me, mate.  I'm here."  He tightened his arms around his friend.  Coldness was creeping in on them both.  He could hear the rattling breathing, and it was close—

"Oh, God…" Sirius shrank back against him as the door slid open and three Dementors entered the cell.  James tightened his grip as his friend shook harder and harder; Sirius was lost now, trapped in the memories locked inside his own tormented soul.  James had never seen someone react so badly to Dementors, but then again, he'd never known anyone to survive so long…especially with their sanity intact.  But no matter how strong Sirius was, the creatures had obviously scarred him deeply.

James heard screaming as Sirius convulsed, and he was certain that some of it was his own.  Still, though, he wouldn't let go, and he poured all his strength and his consciousness into his best friend.  Sirius was too weak to fight them off; he was shaking and shuddering against James, reacting helplessly with pain and fear.  He had to be strong for both of them, he knew, and James clung to Sirius, determined not to let go.

They rode the storm together.

-----------------

James regained full awareness when the Dementors finally retreated, somehow defeated by the bond he and Sirius still shared after so many years apart.  He could feel his friend shaking and shuddering against his chest, struggling for air, and James relaxed his grip on Sirius with a concentrated effort.  He was almost afraid to do so; he was terrified that the Dementors would return and take Sirius away while they were both too weak to hang on a second time.  One look at the shaking man in his arms told James that his friend was still trapped in the hell of his own mind, and a small and frightened corner of his mind wondered how Sirius had lived so long.  But he pushed the thought aside, knowing that they didn't have much time.  Gently, he brushed tangled and dirty black hair way from his friend's sweat covered forehead.

"Sirius?" he whispered.  "Can you hear me?  Sirius?"

Silence.

"Sirius?" James swallowed worriedly.  "Padfoot?"

His friend shook against him, gasping for air in the quiet.  Carefully, James tightened his grip on Sirius, shaking him as gently as he dared.  Finally, a ghostly voice whispered, "Don't…"

"The Dementors are gone, Padfoot," James said with relief.

"Hurts," his friend rasped.

Abruptly, James realized that Sirius was talking about his having shaken him, not Voldemort's frightening creatures.  "I'm sorry."

"S'okay…" Sirius whispered hoarsely.  Fear and old doubts filled his voice.  "They're gone…?"

"Yeah," James reassured him.  "Are you going to be okay?"

It was a dumb question to ask, and Sirius' shaky nod was equally stupid, but for all that, both were completely truthful and well intentioned.  "They're gone, Sirius," he whispered as his friend's shaking began to calm.  "They're gone."

Emotion caught in James' throat as he spoke, still holding his lonely and tormented friend.  What kind of hell had to live in Sirius' mind?  How could he bear it for so many years and not die inside?  Just looking at him made James want to crumble, and he knew deep down that this was all his fault.  The blame for Sirius' skeletal thinness and the blood staining his tattered robes could be laid solely at James' feet.  He wouldn't mention it because Sirius had asked him not to, but James knew the truth.  This was his fault, and the only way to make it right was to save his friend once and for all—to end this hell forever.

The only problem was that he couldn't hope to do so for another week.  "Can you hang on a little while longer?" he asked without thinking.

"James…" Sirius stiffened.  "I live through this…every day."

He swallowed.  "I'm sorry.  I know."

"I don't think you do," his friend replied harshly, but James could hear the fear underlying his words.  "They'll be back, James…and you can't fight them forever."

"What?  I—"

Sirius was shaking again, and he could feel the terror that warred with his friend's natural strength.  "You have to choose your battles…" Sirius coughed.  "Save resistance…for when it really matters."

James stared.  For a moment, he did not understand what he was hearing, and then he couldn't believe that he was hearing those defeated words from Sirius.  Sirius, who had ever been the defiant one, the one who had always fought back, no matter what the cost.  He'd always erred on the side of recklessness rather than caution, and to hear him speak so hesitantly was alien to James' ears.  "This does matter, Sirius."

"Not enough."  The other must have heard his shock and continued in the same quiet and haunted voice.  "You can't win this time, and losing…" he winced.  "Losing costs."

"What's happened to you?" James craned his neck sideways to stare at his friend, truly fearful for Sirius' sanity for the first time.  He couldn't believe, wouldn't believe… But that was the wrong question to ask, and he realized so immediately when his old friend tensed again.  Sirius didn't need to be judged.  Not now; not ever.  He'd been alone for too long in darkness and pain.  After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, James started to apologize, but Sirius' shattered whisper cut him off.

"After a while here, you learn… You learn to keep the resistance inside so that they can't suck it out of you."  He shuddered.  "If you don't…you die."  Sirius closed his eyes, and suddenly James thought he saw the glimmer of tears.  "I can't fight all the time, James… I just _can't_…"

"I'm sorry," he replied quickly, knowing that words could never be enough, and hating himself for how wrong he'd been.  _Ten years, he reminded himself furiously.  _How can I even presume to understand what he's been through, what he's withstood?  _"I don't expect you to—God, Sirius, I'm just glad you're alive.  But I'm just worried… I don't want to lose you again."_

Sirius' eyes opened slowly.  "You won't," he said softly.  "I can't promise you much, but I can promise you that."

Before James could answer, they both felt the approaching coldness, and high-pitched laugher reached their ears.  James' head snapped up so quickly that his neck cracked, but he already knew what he would see.

"Promises, Black, are made to be broken," Voldemort declared, standing in the cell's doorway.  

James tightened his arms protectively around his friend as Sirius tensed.  The Dark Lord, however, must have seen both reactions, because he laughed again, completely unaffected by the Dementors lurking at his back.  On the other hand, though, Sirius' shaking had worsened as the soulless creatures drifted nearer.  Swallowing back his own terror, James pulled his friend still closer.  "I'm here, mate."

"Don't…" Sirius whispered almost inaudibly.

"What?" Fear seized up in his throat; he dared to take his eyes off of Voldemort long enough to peer worriedly at his friend.

Sirius was almost convulsing under the Dementor's influence, and it was obvious that he was struggling to remain in control.  "Just let him, James," he whispered shakily.  "It's not worth—"

"No," he hissed fiercely.  "Some things are worth fighting for."

"Prongs…" It was the first time that Sirius had used the old nickname, and James did not miss the significance of it.  But a cold voice interrupted Sirius before he could gather the strength to continue.

"You'd best listen to your friend, Potter," Voldemort sneered.  "You never know what it might cost you."

The Dementors edged still closer, until they were stopped by the Dark Lord's signal.  Feeling Sirius shudder in terror, James brought his head up to glare defiantly in Voldemort eyes.

"I don't abandon my friends," he snarled.

"Perhaps you should." The answering cold smile sent a chill down James' spine.  "_Crucio!_"

"No!"

Sirius screamed, and while the fringes of the curse struck James, his friend's body buckled and jerked in his arms.  His own pain dimmed in comparison as Sirius shrieked weakly in agony—and all James could do was hold him.  Desperately, he tried to twist his body in between Sirius and the curse, but too much of Sirius' weight leaned against him, and he couldn't move.  _Cold.  Suddenly, the Dementors were there and horrors rose in James' mind as he listened to his best friend scream.  Before he could resist, they tore Sirius away from him._

"No!" James howled again, struggling to his feet.  The edges of his vision were fading and he was near blacking out, but James could see Sirius' body convulsing as the Dementors dragged him away while Voldemort kept him under the curse.  Without thought, he bolted forward, wandless but desperate to do anything to help his friend.  A second set of Dementors seized him, though, and their cold hands filled his mind with nightmares, stealing his vision and threatening his consciousness—but all the while, Sirius' screams echoed in the background.

-----------------

He awoke and found himself chained to the Interrogation Chair again.  James' body was shuddering uncontrollably—the Dementors were close, too close.  It was almost impossible to breathe, and with every breath he smelled the stale air the Dementors exhaled and their foul stench of decay.  James shuddered.

_"Not my parents, no—"_

_"James, it's Lily and Remus.  They might not live…he tried to save her, but—"_

_"Daddy, I don't understand—"_

_"It's Sirius, James.  He's gone—"_

Sirius.

High-pitched and tormented screams of agony.  A cold voice commanded the Dementors: "Back away.  I want him to see."

_Sirius_.  Screaming and held down to a table by three Dementors, his body was jerking wildly and James could see the terror and pain etched into his gaunt features.  Not far away, Rodolphus Lestrange was grinning manically and holding him under the Cruciatus Curse.  Voldemort only smiled.

"As you can see, James, resistance is worthless."

He couldn't even find words to express his anger or disgust.  James could only stare as one Dementor clamped its gray hands around Sirius' face, eliciting a wail of mixed agony and fear.  Despite the foul creatures' tight grip, the skeletal wizard was writhing in pain, but James could see him weakening quickly.  The combination of the torture curse and the Dementors was draining whatever little strength Sirius had, and his breathing was coming harder and harder with each passing moment.

Finally, Lestrange withdrew the curse, and the long silence was filled only by Sirius' soft moans of pain while the Dementors continued holding him down.  For what seemed like an eternity, James could not bear to look away from his friend's sickly trembling form—he could not stop remembering that this was his fault.  Sirius had warned him, but James had assumed that he would bear the consequences of his own actions.  Not Sirius.  He could withstand any amount of pain on his own, but James could not bear to see his friend hurt more.  Not after so long, and not when he was to blame.   Over Sirius' ragged breathing, the Dark Lord commented coldly:

"I see that you are beginning to learn what resistance may cost you."

Slowly, James brought his eyes up to meet his enemy's. "I see that you've only got the courage to harm those who can't fight back."

"Oh, well done."  Voldemort laughed unexpectedly.  "You're smarter than you look, Potter, trying to divert my anger to you instead of your friend."  Suddenly, though, he stepped close, leaning over James.  "But I'll let you in on a little secret, young man.  I know that you love him like a brother.

 "And I also know that you'll give anything to save his life." The red eyes blazed.  "So fight it all you want.  I'm willing to wait.  In the end, you'll break."

-----------------


	3. Day Two

**Day Two**

James curled tightly into a ball.  He was thoroughly exhausted. He was beginning to believe that they'd never let Sirius sleep.  Though the screams from the next cell had subsided, his best friend had not fallen silent.  He was still crying with the pain.  Every time James would almost think that Sirius was about to get a rest, an ear-piercing shriek would shatter the quiet, and it would begin again.  

_So cold… so cold._  James shivered as he tried to pull his robes tighter around him.  He dutifully tried to stay awake, to listen, to bear witness, but his ordeal had drained all his energy.  His eyelids betrayed him as he fell into sleep.

_James was walking through a garden path.  Sunlight filtered through the flower laden trees, and he could hear laughter from up ahead._

_"Lily!  Harry!"  He picked up speed to catch up.  He could see them sitting there, on their picnic blanket, taking food out of a basket.  Harry couldn't be more than three years old, peering into the basket to see what there was._

_James cleared the trees, and sat down on the blanket.  He took the plate that Lily handed him, and picked up the sandwich that was on it.  The sandwich disintegrated into ashes at his touch.  _

_"Lily?"  He looked up.  Lily and Harry were both still there, lying perfectly still on the ground.  Spills of red hair sank into the ground as the world faded around him.  _

_His tried to whirl around at the sounds behind him, but his feet had rooted into the ground with his wife's hair.  Everything was the same flaming red._

_"JAMES!"  _

_"Lily… I can't move… I can't save you…"_

He awoke with a start as Sirius shrieked again.  Damning himself for falling asleep, James pulled himself upright.  Hugging his knees, he listened as the worst of the cries died down again.  Images of red hair haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

_All around him, the cries continued._

_"JAMES!"_

_"Lily…"_

_"Daddy…"_

_James tore himself loose and ran wildly toward the voices._

When his eyes snapped open again, James cursed himself once more.  Finally resigned to the fact that he had to get some rest whether he liked it or not, he curled into the corner and tried to shut out his mind.

_The red became more vivid.  It changed from the color that he knew so well from years of caressing Lily's hair to a much fiercer red._

_Laughter.__  Cold, high-pitched._

_"James!  Save me!"  The high-pitched voice was mocking him.  _

_Falling.___

_James grasped the air to try and find something to grab onto._

_He landed hard on cold stone.  The red coalesced into two points as Voldemort started striding toward him._

_"Save me, James."_

_"I can't move."  James lay on the ground at odd angles, certain that his back was in at least three pieces._

_"You're broken, James, of course you can't move.  Only I can move you."_

_James found that there were strings attached to his joints.  He was lifted up off the ground.  His broken bones made him shriek in agony, but there was no one that cared.  Music box music reminiscent of a circus began to play.  An invisible hand began to work the strings jerkily, forcing James to dance to the music.  Voldemort clapped in delight._

_The sugared music played on, and the puppeteer manipulated the strings faster and faster until James was whirling faster than he could comprehend.  The colours that swirled around him moved with sickening speed._

_The music stopped.  James found himself staring down Voldemort once more.  The strings caught fire at Voldemort's intense gaze.  Free of the manipulating strings, James fell to the cold stone._

_Rising to one knee, he looked up at his adversary.  The circus music started to play slowly and quietly, one music box note at a time.  Voldemort extended his hand, as a lover might extend a hand to his fallen companion.  James took the hand and rose to his feet.  As the music picked up speed and volume, the pair began to dance.  The music mutated into a waltz as James and Voldemort flawlessly fell into the three-step pattern._

_Around and around they danced.  "My James."_

_"Yours forever."__ Dreamy._

_"JAMES!" A shriek._

_"Lily?"  Confusion._

_"Forget her."  A cold but oddly comforting command._

_"Forget who?" Hazy._

_"Exactly."__  Self-pleased._

"Look who's sleeping so peacefully.  Isn't he so cute when he's sleeping?"  James woke with a kick to the side.  He realized that he'd been screaming when the breath of cold, stale air he drew in hurt his throat.  The world was still hazy through heavy sleep laden eyelids that did not want to open.

"Wakey, wakey, Jimmy."  A giggle.  Another kick, this time to the stomach. Had his mind been alert enough to register such a complex thought, he would have thought the little bit of sleep he'd gotten wasn't enough to restore him.  Slowly, he opened his eyes.  He immediately knew that it was a mistake.  The cell came into view just in time to see two Dementors float into the room.  He was not awake enough to fight them.  

The memories surfaced as soon as the Dementors roughly picked him up by the arms.  

_Harry ran out the door to investigate the source of the bright tinkling music.  The major pitfall of living in a Muggle neighborhood was the little things.  Things like ice cream trucks.  Ice cream trucks and four year olds mixed, be they Muggle children or wizards._

_"Harry!  Come back in the house!"  But it was too late.  No one except James saw the man that appeared out of the shadows.  James rushed out of the house, running with all his Auror's speed to reach his son, but he was not in time.  _

_It was a week before they rescued Harry, barely alive.  It was almost a year before the scars healed._

_"Come back…"_

James half registered his legs dragging along the stone floors as he was hauled down the corridor, and forced into the Interrogation Chair once again.  Although he was expecting the burning chains this time, it did not keep him from crying out when they wrapped around him, or from choking when they wrapped around his throat.

  When the Dementors retreated, James opened his eyes; a grain of him glad that he wouldn't be expected to move in his half-awake state. 

All thoughts of sleep fled his mind as Sirius was dragged in.  The Dementors dropped him in the doorway.  Rabastan Lestrange dragged him the rest of the way in the room.  

"Dear, dear.  It doesn't look like you've slept very well."  Rabastan laughed a hearty laugh.  James didn't think that he'd ever heard that sort of laugh from anyone except large men that had their jolly smiles permanently etched onto their round whiskered faces.  He was highly disturbed to hear it here and now.

"He hasn't slept at all, brother." Rodolphus' eyes gleamed.  He addressed Rabastan, but he looked at James when he spoke.  "His cell's charmed.  Suspended Cruciatus.  He falls asleep, it kicks in.  No sleep for the wicked, as they say." 

James bit his lip.  It was all he could do not to curse them both for speaking so gleefully.  

Sirius whimpered in pain as Rabastan lifted him by his bound arms and inspected the bindings.  Frowning, he tapped the chains with his wand.  They glowed and shifted position.  Sirius gasped as they tightened, pulling his arms even farther behind his back.  His broken shoulder creaked in protest, and Sirius finally gave a howl of agony.  The chains dimmed and settled as his elbows met, his forearms pressing firmly into each other.

"Stop it!"

"Manners, Potter.  Manners.  This is a spectator sport, not a participatory one.  Rodolphus, if you would?'

Rodolphus pointed his wand at the ceiling, and a new chain grew from it, firmly embedded in the stone.  Link by link, it formed.  As soon as it was long enough, Rabastan lifted Sirius up onto it, expertly binding him to the end of it securely.

"There.  That's a better view, now isn't it?  Easier access, don't you agree, brother?"  Rabastan let go of his burden and Sirius began to swing and turn like a pendulum, letting out a small whimper every time he changed direction.

"Oh, quite, brother."  Rodolphus walked over and gave Sirius a push on his broken right shoulder and he began to spin wildly out of control.  He shrieked with the pain.

The door opened and shut almost without James noticing.  A third figure joined the two brothers.

"Oooh, it's almost like a piñata, isn't it?  Do you think there's good candy inside?"  Bellatrix pushed Sirius in the other direction, causing new, louder screams.  "Humph.  I think this piñata's broken.  I don't like toys that are broken.  I think we'll have to try a little harder to get at what's inside, or I shall be _very upset.  Besides.  It makes such wonderful noises."_

Drawing her wand, she cried, "_Verberovox_!"  James was unfamiliar with that spell, but the effect was immediate.  A long thread of glowing energy extended from her wand, growing in size until it was at least six feet long and thick and twisting as a serpent.  Taking his cue from her, Rodolphus repeated, "_Verberovox_," and his wand in turn formed the same thick cable of energy.

Bellatrix was first.  "Is there any candy to be found?  Let's find out, shall we?"  She flicked her wand, and it cracked like a… like a whip.

_No.  Oh, no.  Not that.  Not that._

Bellatrix clearly knew what she was doing.  The whip sped and cracked clear across the dead center of Sirius' chest, eliciting fresh cries of pain.  Again, and again the whip cracked.  Rodolphus moved around behind Sirius.  His whip landed across the back of Sirius' legs.  

Husband and wife soon had Sirius spinning and swaying in patterns, his shrieks falling into similar patterns.  Rabastan applauded.  Each crack of the whip was perfectly timed to catch the arc of a swing or twirl of the body.  Blood soon started to fall to the floor.  

"Ah, there's the candy I was looking for."  Bellatrix dipped her finger in the flowing blood, and licked it clean.  "Sweeter than wine, cousin.  But then, I never had a taste for wine."

She walked up to Sirius, gripping his shoulders to still his swaying.  Dipping her fingers in blood once again, she stroked his cheek gently, leaving a red streak there.  "Rabastan, I believe it's your turn?  Turns are only fair, after all.  I just want one last crack at him.  I do believe that my dear cousin looks better with some color in his cheeks, don't you?"

Stepping back, Bellatrix drew her arm and let her whip fly.  It landed perfectly on the streak of blood she'd made on Sirius' cheek.  New blood, fresh blood, cascaded down his face as he screamed.

"There you are, Rabastan.  All yours."  She retreated back and waked over to James.  Leaning over him, she asked, "Would you like some candy?"  Bellatrix put her bloody fingers to James' lips.  He pursed them, eyes wide with panic.  "Oh, come now.  It's very good."  She painted his lips with the blood, and sat down on his lap, giggling when she felt his muscles tense.  "Let's watch the show, shall we, Jimmy?"

James bit his lip.   He regretted it immediately when he tasted Sirius' blood there.

"It really ought to be quite the show.  Rabastan never had my flair for aim, but he can't be faulted for sheer strength.  The speeds he can get that thing to, it's incredible."

The resounding shriek that pierced his ears confirmed Bellatrix's words.  James grimaced.

"Isn't he amazing?"  Bellatrix absent-mindedly began to play with his hair.  James tried to jerk his head away, nearly choking himself with the effort.  "There's nothing quite like seeing two brothers playing so nicely together, is there?"

Turning her attention to James, she patted him on the cheek.  A spark of fancy seemed to take her as she snatched his glasses off his face.

"My glasses… I can't see…"  James flicked his eyes left and right, but everything had been reduced to blurs and swirls of color.  Somehow, the sounds of the continuously swishing and cracking whips and the screams of his friend seemed heightened.  

"How do you _see through these things?  They're so strong!"  Bellatrix's voice, even, took on a different quality.  It seemed to echo in his ears.  "And so dirty!  Didn't your mother teach you to clean them?"_

He could hear her spit, and could only assume that she was cleaning them.

"You killed my mother."

"Did I?  It was such a long time ago.  You probably don't want to see this anyway.  There's quite a lot of blood.  Just listen to those screams.  And I'll tell you a little secret."  Bellatrix's voice dropped to a whisper, and James could feel her breath on his ear.  "Personally, I hope you don't break yet.  I'm enjoying myself entirely too much with him to let you end it all too quickly.  But everyone breaks in the end, Jimmy.  Even you."  The last two words were so quietly said; James would almost have called them intimate.  The thought made him ill.  

Just as his stomach started to turn, the room grew very cold.

_Not now, oh, God not now._

"Bellatrix, leave our honored guest alone.  You have other things to attend to."  The cold voice cut right through James.  Bellatrix stood up and bowed low, though James could not see it.

"Voldemort."  His eyes tried to force the world into focus through sheer strength of will.  He took in every sound with intense concentration.  Sirius' screams drowned out any smaller sounds he might be able to hear.  He was completely blind, and Voldemort was remaining completely silent.

Minutes passed in silence that was broken only by the crack of the whip followed by a shriek.  James could hear the blood dripping on the floor.  It felt like hours.  

"Where are you?  You're there.  I know you're there."  He could take the tension no longer.

"Impatient little whelp, you are.  I'll have to teach you patience."  James couldn't tell where the voice was coming from.  It seemed to come from inside his head and echo off the walls at the same time.

"Rabastan, Rodolphus."  The whips stopped.  "A history lesson is in order.  But first things first."

James flinched when he felt a cold hand slide down the side of his face.  In his head, he could hear a faint music box play a waltz.  Every part of him froze into ice.  The defiant words formed on his tongue instinctually, as an act of sanity, though he knew that they were anything but sane.  "You're a lousy dancer, Voldemort.  My cat waltzes better."

The hand stopped at his chin.  "Resorting to school boy insults, are we, Potter?  I thought you were above such things."

James breathed again.  He didn't know what had possessed him.  But Voldemort hadn't understood.  Relief flooded through him.  

"As much as I'm enjoying all this, you're here to see."  The hand brushed over his eyes, pausing there before moving on.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the world came into focus as his glasses were put back into place.  They weren't quite adjusted properly, but at least he could see.  There were red smears on the glass where Bellatrix had spit on them.  She'd still had blood in her mouth when she'd done it.  There was a definite fingerprint in blood on the left lens.

The first thing to come into focus was Voldemort's face.  James closed his eyes.

"I said you were here to see, Potter.  Open your eyes."  The serpentine face came back into view as James obeyed.  

"Rabastan.  From the looks of things, you're the one that hung him.  It looks like your work."  Voldemort looked Sirius up and down.  James could hardly bear to look at his friend dangling from the ceiling so precariously.  And to hear Voldemort discussing him like a piece of art.

"Yes, my Lord."  Rabastan bowed his head, smiling.

"Then why is he so… _comfortable_?"

James' breath caught.  This couldn't be good.  Tears were flowing down Sirius' face from the pain he was in, and Voldemort was calling him _comfortable?_

"Look at him.  Well, we can't have him dying of blood loss.  We'll have to fix that before anything.  _Constosanguim__._"  The blood stopped flowing from his dozens of wounds, congealing at the source.  Before lowering his wand, Voldemort regarded the links of the chain supporting Sirius.  With a swish of his hand, one of them dissolved, sending Sirius crashing to the floor.

"Stand up, Black."  Sirius didn't move.  

"He said, stand _up, Black."  Rabastan kicked him squarely in the chest._

"Make me."

Rodolphus took a hand full of hair and pulled his head up.  "My pleasure."  He hauled Sirius to his feet.  As soon as he let go, Sirius fell again.  

"Leg broken… arms bound… off balance… you try… standing… that way…" Every word was thick with pain, but the defiance still managed to come through.

_Stop, Sirius… stop… you're going to get yourself killed… _

Pulled to his feet once more, Sirius managed to find his footing, though James marveled that he didn't fall a third time.  Wordlessly, Voldemort manipulated the hanging chain until it was just long enough to attach to the bindings at his wrists.  

"If you know your history, they once did this to wizards.  Just for being wizards.  Fitting, isn't it?"

Bellatrix was the first to light up.  She looked at Voldemort, and getting a nod from him, drew her wand.  The chain retracted into the ceiling with startling speed, wrenching Sirius' arms up behind him.   His shoulders cracked audibly as the joints dislocated.  Bellatrix dropped him back to the floor as he screamed.  The floor was still slick with his blood.

"Stand up, Black," Voldemort commanded again.

"Ma… ke… me…"  Sirius was breathing heavily.

The chain was shortened just enough to drag Sirius to his feet.  Voldemort drew his wand.  James shrieked when he saw him conjure weights at Sirius' feet.  "No!  You'll kill him!  You'll tear him apart!"

"Oh, look.  Potter has something to say.  You can stop this, you know.  You know what you have to do.  Are you willing to do it yet?"  Voldemort seemed amused.

James looked at Sirius, whose face was set.  _No, it said.  He hated himself for doing it, but he held fast.  "No."_

The chain retracted into the ceiling.  The scream was deafening.


	4. Day Three

**Day Three**

James' head throbbed and his stomach churned. He wished that there was something in his stomach so that he could at least empty it back up and find some relief. The combined lack of food and overwhelming circumstances were taking a painful toll on him.

  
Sirius' blood still streaked his glasses. Since being thrown back into his cell, he hadn't been coherent long enough to even attempt to clean them. No fewer than three Dementors had been standing just outside his door for most of the night—or what James assumed was most of the night. He was losing track of time. All he knew was that he couldn't stop shaking and his head wouldn't stop spinning. He curled into a ball, trying to ignore the pain stabbing into his stomach from lack of food.

  
A fourth Dementor joined the group. Try as he might, he couldn't fight it off as the world around him faded and he was once more tossed into the past.

  
_The one thing that people always said about James' mother was that she had spine. Real backbone. Most people would have believed this statement without needing actual _proof_, but no, not Bellatrix Lestrange. She had needed to _see_ it to believe it._

_  
It had been an awful day. One of the worst of his life. Of course, it hadn't started out that way. They never did. He had just returned to the flat he shared with his three best friends when a call came in through the fire.  
  
"Nice game, Jimmy. Too bad you lost."  James jumped when he saw the Death Eater's head bobbing in his fireplace. She spoke, as always, in a mocking and singsongy voice; if he hadn't been quite so curious as to why she was there, he probably would have hexed her on the spot.  But James regained his composure quickly, and kept his wand in hand.  There was no use taking chances._

_   
"You must have been listening to the wrong game, Bellatrix. My team won," James replied coolly, not taking his eyes off his best friend's cousin. How many times had he told her not to call him Jimmy? He had lost count by now. Even though she did it just to spite him, every time she used the name, it sent shivers down his spine._

_  
"Au contraire. As I recall, the home team lost. They put up a good fight, but took a real beating in the end." Bellatrix did not bother to hide the cruel laughter in her voice. The malice in her eyes was clear; a sinking feeling started in the pit of James' stomach. Something was wrong, more wrong then having a Lestrange in his fire. Bellatrix let out an amused chuckle, and then in a blaze of sparks, disappeared._

_  
His mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. What had she meant, 'the home team lost'? It made no sense. His team, Puddlemere United, had been the home team. They had won the game, 350-100, and if anyone had taken a beating, it had been the Chudley Cannons. James sat down on the couch, still trying to figure out what she could have meant. It wasn't until Sirius walked in the door that it hit him like a Bludger._

_  
"Hey, I'm home. I heard you guys won."  Sirius casually flopped down on the couch next to James, grinning. Feeling cold, James leapt to his feet._

_  
"Home?" He let out a low moan as everything clicked into place. "Oh gods... I have to get to Godric's Hollow—something isn't right."_

_  
"What's wrong, James?" Sirius jumped up to face James, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "You look like you've seen a ghost."_

_  
"No, worse than a ghost. Bellatrix called here." The words came out in an almost incoherent rush, but Sirius understood.  James turned away, hurriedly grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill._

_  
"Bellatrix? As in, Bellatrix Lestrange? As in, my evil Death Eater cousin?" Sirius asked incredulously. "What did _she_ want?"_

_  
"That's what I wanted to know, but I think I understand now. Sirius, I think something might have happened to my parents." It was hard to breathe, impossible to sound calm. "We have to get to Godric's Hollow, _now_!"_

_He knew that he sounded half crazed, but did not care.  Sirius shook him as James ran a nervous hand through his hair._

_  
"Calm down, James. Tell me what happened. For all you know, this might be a trap," Sirius replied in a no-nonsense tone. Years of training made him calm, but James could see the effort that it took to do so.  He took a deep breath and sat down on the couch again, resting his head in his hands.  The words came out in a rush._

_  
"I came back from my Quidditch match, and all of a sudden Bellatrix was there in the fire. She kept saying 'the home team lost'. It didn't make any sense. But then you came in, and said 'I'm home' and things just came together.... Something is wrong, Sirius, I know it! We have to go make sure my parents are okay."_

_  
_Even through the haze of memory, James could hear Sirius screaming in the background, almost with the quality of ambient music during a play. His voice was raw; overuse during endless torture sessions was wearing it out. The screaming mixed into his Dementor induced vision, adding a heightened sense of tension.

  
_They Apparated just outside of Godric's Hollow.__ James blanched as he saw the vile green mark hanging in the sky, the serpent writhing out of the mouth of the skull. All the windows of the house were shattered, and the front gate was bent in on itself. He couldn't move. His mind was whirling. Sirius again placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him forward._

_  
Slowly, they made their way for the front door.  It lay in splinters around the entranceway, destroyed and useless. Both men dreaded finding the bodies of David and Diana Potter. They had been parents to Sirius just as much as they had been to James._

_  
Neither was prepared for what they found inside. Furniture was upturned, shattered glass was everywhere, paintings were torn, and there was a trail of blood.... They followed it into the kitchen where, much to their disgust, they found the remains of David Potter spattering the walls, ceiling, and floor. Flies had found their way into the house and had started collecting in the pools of bodily fluids._

_  
The stench was horrendous. James had to turn away from the haphazard bits that were left of his father. He could no longer bear to look.  Unfortunately, he turned towards the dining room. Helplessly, James vomited up what little food he had eaten that afternoon, trying to look away but unable to. He heard Sirius let out a growl of disgust as he too saw the room off to the side._

_  
There, lying on the oak table, was Diana Potter's spine. It sat in a pool of blood, and the white bones gleamed in the candlelight of the lit candelabras. James knew for a fact that those candles were only ornamental. His parents _never_ lit them. And there, sitting at the head of the table, her head lolled back and the flames flicking off her impeccably clean glasses, was James' mother._

_  
The white seat cushions were stained crimson where Bellatrix had peeled away the skin on Diana's back in order to pull out the spine. The thick, antique Persian rug on the floor was also covered in blood, and at its center was the strip of flesh that had once protected the central nervous system of James' mother. Her face had been mutilated as well, almost to the point where James couldn't recognize her. Piercing blue eyes stared out of her face in fear and agony, as if..._

_  
"Oh gods... She was still alive when they did this to her!" James choked out, dry-heaving once more.  There was nothing left in his stomach; he wanted to vomit but could not. Squeezing his eyes shut, James tried to block out the images, but they wouldn't go away. He felt so horribly powerless._

_  
"There's a note," Sirius said, his voice hardening. James opened his eyes to see an athame embedded in the table, pinning a note down. He went over and tore the parchment free of the blood stained dagger. It took his eyes a moment to adjust on the red writing._

_  
"Dear Jimmy- _

_We stopped by to visit you and my dear cousin, but you weren't home. Hope you don't mind us taking the liberty of doing a bit of redecorating. The decorum was just atrocious before. We left some dinner on the table if you get hungry. You know how Aunt Aurelia worries about your health, Cousin. Do behave, boys. _

_Lots of love, _

_Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange."___

_  
James' voice cracked as he read the letter out loud. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes, but he didn't care. Crumbling the note into a ball and threw it across the room, then turned and walked out the door. Sitting outside on the old stone bench, he cried. Sirius sat down next to him wordlessly, and the two friends grieved over their lost parents._

_  
_James struggled free of the Dementor memory. Remembering how he had found his mother's body made him gag again, even all these years later. That was what had driven him to become an Auror. _If only I had been there, I could have helped. I could have done something, anything! It's all my fault!_ His thoughts were bitter as he cursed himself once more. _Just like what happened to Sirius was my fault..._

_  
_His world started to fade again, but he wasn't sure if this was being caused by the Dementors or if his body had finally reached its limit and was starting to shut down, trying to find some way to restore itself.

  
_It was dinner time. Lily had made pasta. Harry sat in his high chair, smiling happily, spaghetti smeared sauce all over his face. Lily smiled as she passed the sauce to James. But when he took the bowl, it tipped slightly, spilling the red substance all down the front of his robes and spattering spaghetti sauce on the ground._

_  
"I'm such a klutz," James chuckled. But Lily was no longer laughing. Confused, James looked up from his futile attempt to clean up the mess to see what was wrong. Lily had always laughed at James' antics._

_  
His stomach gave a painful lurch when, instead of seeing his wife, the mangled form of his mother stared back at him with her fear-filled eyes. Looking down again, James realized it wasn't spaghetti sauce covering him.  It was blood._

_  
His stomach lurched once more as smears of blood appeared on his glasses. When he licked his lips nervously, however, the twinge of copper reminded James of the blood Bellatrix had put there. _Sirius' blood_, he thought painfully._

_  
Just as he thought this nightmare (for surely, it couldn't be anything else) was as bad as it could get, an evil sounding chuckle reached his ears. He knew that laugh. He hated that laugh. The laugh belonged to one of the people he wanted most to kill._

_  
_"Wakey, wakey, Jimmy boy. I've got a present for you," Bellatrix's voice broke into his subconscious. James wasn't sure if he were still dreaming, or if Bellatrix really was attempting to wake him up. He decided on the latter when he felt the Dementors' cold hands on his shoulders.

  
_The blood continued to drip down his robes. The floor was covered in it. After all his years as an Auror, James could not recall ever having seen this much blood at once. A person just couldn't lose the amount he was seeing. It made his heart ache to think that all this blood had come from his mother._

_  
But wait… That wasn't his mother sitting in the chair. It was Sirius!_ James was jolted back to reality once more. Sirius was strapped to a chair; just a plain wooden chair, tied there with ordinary ropes. Not at all like the chair James was in, with its burning bonds and metal rigidness. He wanted to scream out, find some way to stop the torture before it started, but a piece of dirty cloth had been shoved in his mouth. It seemed as if the concept of a simple Silencing Charm had slipped Bellatrix's mind. 

  
Then he realized what it was. A piece of cloth had been torn from the bottom of Sirius' robes. The dirt was mixed with dried blood and other things—things that James didn't even want to think about.

  
Sirius' head sagged, touching his chest; his entire body was limp. James could see where the bindings had dug into his flesh as his body convulsed. His heart broke once more; this was all his fault.

  
"Well, well, well, look who's finally decided to wake up," Bellatrix's voice pierced through James' daze. "It's rude to sleep in, you know. Especially when you're a guest in someone else's home."

  
If there hadn't been a gag in his mouth, James would have spit at her. Instead, he could only glare, trying to fill his eyes with his hatred for the woman who had killed his mother. But his mother was irrelevant now.  Gone.  This was something different.  He tensed, seeing a flash of metal in her hands. The dim light reflected off of the sparkling gems set in the hilt of the seven-inch long blade.

  
She carefully brought the blade to Sirius' side, slicing through the ropes restraining him. His limp body crumbled to the floor, and he let out a soft moan. James shuddered as imaginary memories of Bellatrix slicing through his mother's skin flashed before his eyes.

  
"_Verberovox._" Rabastan Lestrange's voice was rough. James' eyes widened as he saw the thick stream of energy flow out of his wand. _Not again!_ his mind screamed. Bellatrix and Rodolphus followed suit.

  
"It's time for a little game. Rodolphus likes to call it _Sound Off_. I don't particularly care for the title, but it keeps him amused," Bellatrix laughingly said as she drew back her arm and allowed the whip to fall on Sirius' already battered back. James watched as his friend's body seized in agony. It was too much for him to watch, but he felt compelled to.  It was his fault.  _He _caused Sirius this pain; he as well have held the whips himself. Each of the Lestranges would take their turn whipping Sirius until he made some sort of sound. Dark blood had started to pool on the ground.

  
_Blood was everywhere. On the table, on the chairs, on the floor, on the walls. James looked down and found blood covering himself. He tried to wipe it off, but it didn't help. He looked at his hands; they were covered in crimson blood. _How ironic_. _Their blood is on my hands. Just as it should be.  _The voice in his head was appropriate, accusatory. _All your fault. All your fault._ The same three words repeated over and over again in his mind._

_  
_He was jolted back to reality by a sharp slap across his face. Bellatrix's eyes were dark with anger. "Pay attention, Jimmy. You can't afford not to."  Her voice was not nearly as carefree as it had been a moment ago; it cut like ice. She turned her back on James and raised her arm, letting another hit fall upon Sirius's back.  Yet James' best friend made no sound, and the silence was frightening.  Sirius hardly reacted, yet the puddle of blood had increased dramatically during the few moments James hadn't been coherent.

  
It was taking longer and longer for Sirius to make a sound every time the whip fell, but James didn't think it was his friend being stubborn. Sirius was fading. He didn't have the energy to make noise any more. The blood loss was starting to affect him severely. If he didn't still have the gag in his mouth, James would have said something, anything, to try and help Sirius.

  
"Did you have something to say, Jimmy?" Bellatrix asked abruptly.  Smiling coldly, she turned back to face James, probably curious to see what the muffled sounds were about. James nodded as much as the burning restraints on his body would allow, not caring about the pain.  Whatever he felt had become unimportant.  His feelings did not matter.  Sirius did. She walked to his side slowly, then removed the wad of cloth, making James cough.  "Speak, then."

  
"He's in shock, can't you see? People can't loose that much blood!" James said, begging—but he did not care about weakness. Bellatrix smirked, running a pale finger down his cheek.

  
"How right you are. Rodolphus, if you would," she said, waving her hand in the direction of her husband. He leaned over Sirius' body and spoke a spell James had never heard of.

  
"_Restituosanguim_," Rodolphus said, his wand pointed at Sirius' prone form. The word alone must have made James tense, because Bellatrix answered the unspoken question with a smirk on her face.  

  
"Blood replacement spell. It should hold him for a little while." A bit of color returned to Sirius' cheeks so that his flesh was no longer a sick shade of gray. Unlike the day before, though, Bellatrix had not used the spell to stem the bleeding; only to give him more blood to lose.

  
She stepped away from James' side for a moment, his gag still in her hands. She bent down next to Sirius and gently, almost lovingly, wiped the gag in the blood on his face. Then she returned and stuffed the fabric back in James' mouth once more.

  
He tried not to think about the warm liquid against his tongue, or the coppery taste making its way down his throat. He tried to ignore the pain etched on Sirius' face, but could not. He tried not to look at Bellatrix, her teeth flashing in the dim light as she started laughing once more, bringing her whip down on Sirius again and again.

  
It must have been hours (or was it merely a few minutes?) before Bellatrix motioned for two Dementors to drag James back to his cell. He could see that she had no intention of stopping the torture; merely, he would no longer be a spectator. After he was thrown back into his cell, he pulled the bit of robe out of his mouth, and then proceeded to have a coughing fit. He couldn't catch his breath, and soon the world faded around him once more.

  
_"Please do this for me, Sirius, I don't trust anyone else," James asked his best friend, their eyes meeting._

_  
"I don't know if I trust myself," Sirius replied quietly, looking away._

_  
"You can do this Sirius. I know you can. Please. If you don't do this for yourself, if you can't do it for me, at least try for Lily and Harry," James pleaded. Sirius was quiet for a moment._

_  
"Okay..." he replied slowly. A feeling of dread settled over the two friends. Their eyes met once more as both felt they had doomed their best friend to a horrible fate._

_  
You made him do it!_ James' mind screamed once more. _He didn't want to. He knew something was wrong. You forced it upon him. You could have saved him from this, but you were selfish. You've doomed him to his death, then spent ten years pretending like it had never happened! What kind of friend are you?_ But that wasn't what had happened. Sirius had wanted to do it, had offered to do it, had begged to do it. Was it a memory? A nightmare? An illusion?  James could hardly tell anymore. He wished it would stop. He couldn't take these thoughts any more. A Dementor passed his cell, making him shiver.

  
_Lily was decked out in dress robes. James had teased her because it was Slytherin green, but she insisted that it went with her hair and especially her eyes. In his deep red robes, the pair made the perfect couple on the Christmas dance floor. They had learned to waltz just for this particular occasion, and nothing was going to spoil it for them. Arabella laughed at the sight of the two of them so fancily dressed, but what could you do but laugh back?_

_  
The Aurors didn't usually let their hair down, so to speak, but this year they knew that if they didn't hold some festivities, they would all burn out. As the music played, the finest protectors danced across the floor. They should have known. They should have seen it coming. Alastor had tried to tell them that it would happen. _

_  
The attack hadn't been direct, not at first. The very first thing had been the smoke. Flames licked at the doors, at the windows, overtaking the walls and the decorations. Slightly inebriated, Mundungus said, "Lookit. Fireworks." He reached out to look at the "pretty" decorations, and was instantaneously engulfed in flames. That was the last playful comment that any of them made. Within minutes, the flames were put out and the battle was on. People were lost on both sides, and Lily went down. Hard. She seemed to fall in slow motion, her charred robes swirling around her—and James could only watch. There wasn't time for anything more.  _

_  
He ran to catch her, but she hit the floor before he could reach. Cradling her in his arms, he cried. His tears fell onto her face, but she lay still..._

_  
_He shuddered. His body felt like it had been dunked in ice water. _Not again!_ Two Dementors opened the door to his cell.  James wished there was some way to resist, but Sirius had said it the first day, back before James understood.  But he did now. He couldn't fight it all the time. Resistance had to be kept inside. Battles had to be chosen. Losing didn't cost him; it cost his best friend.

  
Sirius looked dead when James was dragged back into the room and strapped to the interrogation chair. His face was terribly pale, contrasting against the dark liquid all around him. The only reason James could tell he was still alive was because Sirius' entire body was shaking.

  
"We're just not getting around to you, are we Jimmy?" Bellatrix's voice was cold and hard, laced with her own brand of humor. James didn't reply. What was there to say to something like that?

  
"That's alright, though. It wouldn't be any fun if you broke now. And you _are_ a fun one."  Her eyes glinted maniacally.  They matched the cruel mirth in her voice.

  
"Listen to the way he rasps for air. He struggles for every breath, you know. His heart will likely give out soon."  Her voice was casual. She was just stating facts. _That's all this was to her. That, and enjoyable.  _James tried not to think about what she was describing. He couldn't bear to think about Sirius dying. She cast her spell without preamble, making James to jump.

  
"_Offenvox_."  Her words were nonchalant, and she did not flinch as a jolt of raw electricity flowed into Sirius' body. Sirius' body arched in pain; Bellatrix seemed not to care. Even after James cried out for her to stop, she would not. The smell of burning flesh—_Sirius' flesh_—started to fill the room.

  
"You're killing him! Stop it!" James pleaded. She barely glanced in his direction, and kept her wand pointed at Sirius' still convulsing body. Five more minutes must have passed before she finally lifted the spell, a smirk on her face.

  
She signaled Rabastan and Rodolphus to begin whipping Sirius once more.  Then Bellatrix walked over to James' side and sat down on his lap, with one leg on either side of his body and her face directly in front of his.  Slowly, she ran a finger down the side of his face.

  
"He would die for you, you know."  Her voice was soft, almost as if she really cared what happened. James glared; she smirked. "Oh Jimmy. When are you going to understand? Just a few small words, and all his pain will go away."

  
"_You_ don't understand. I made a promise. I'm not going to break. Sirius trusts me not to."  James tried to sound strong; he failed.

  
"You are mistaken, James. Everyone breaks."  She smiled hungrily. "You will too."

Her sudden use of his proper name frightened him, but he did not have time to understand why.  Abruptly, she stood up, leaving James to sit in the chair, and listen to his best friend's agonizing moans.


	5. Day Four

**Day Four**

James sat huddled in his cell.  He could hear echoing screams from down the corridor, and it made his blood run cold that it sounded as though he were in the same room with Sirius all the way from here.  Days were becoming as much of a routine as could exist in a place like this. 

He'd been forced to watch, and alternatively to listen.  An hour's respite, perhaps, and it would begin again.  Over and over again.

As the shrieks subsided, James looked expectantly at the door of his cell.  Almost on cue, it creaked open.  Almost on cue, the wave of cold hit. He scrambled to his feet.

"Where is he?" he asked shakily.  Sirius had not been brought to his cell since the first day, but the presence of the Dementors made it difficult to think.  The Dementors only advanced, pulling James along with them.  Whether they were amused by the lapse in his perspicacity of the situation or not, they gave no indication.

_"Welcome to Azkaban, _Gryffindor_…"_

_"Never is a very long time…"_

_Sirius screamed, writhing in pain.  Bellatrix kicked him in the small of the back, and he screamed louder.  She laughed as she cast Cruciatus after Cruciatus.  _

_Sirius screamed until he could scream no more…_

As the world finally cleared and came into view, the first thing James saw was Sirius crumpled on the floor of the Interrogation Room.  His chest was moving up and down arrhythmically, but at least he was breathing.

 "Oh, yes.  He's still alive.  We've made sure of that."  James jumped at the sound of Voldemort's voice.  He clenched his teeth and his fists.

 "What's the matter, Potter?  Cat got your tongue?" Voldemort laughed.  "No matter.  Rodolphus, would you wake up Black here?"

Rodolphus Lestrange had Sirius' eyes open with only three castings of _Ennervate_ and four good kicks, two fewer of each than the time before.  He looked sorely disappointed.

James tried to rush toward him when he drew his wand again, but Bellatrix was behind him, holding him back, whispering in his ear, "Now, now, Jimmy.  We don't want to do that, now, do we?  We might get _hurt_." 

James' jaw dropped as for the first time since his arrival, Sirius' bindings dropped away.  His arms stayed firmly locked behind his back, and he screamed in agony when Rodolphus moved them.

"Leave them alone!  They're atrophied!  They're dislocated...  They're..." James' words spilled out before he could think, and as expected, went unheeded.  Sirius was dragged to his feet.  Suddenly, James realized that he should have first wondered why he was merely being held back and not bound into the Interrogation Chair as usual.  The table had been moved to be right in front of the chair.  Another chair, a normal chair, was also at the table.  

Routine was changing.  That could only be bad for the both of them.  James didn't know what to think when the burning hot chains meant for his own arms, legs, chest, and throat wrapped themselves around his best friend instead.  

Voldemort was taking charge personally.  James shuddered.  This could only be bad for the both of them.

"James." It was always chilling to hear Voldemort use his first name.  "Have a seat."  

Bellatrix let go of him and shoved him forward toward the empty chair.  He barely caught himself before he fell.

"I prefer to stand."

"Very well.  Have it your way, then.  _Crucio._"

Sirius cried out, tried to writhe in pain, but the chains held him fast.  Voldemort strode up until he was standing close enough to brush the hair from Sirius' face, and yet he did not break the spell. 

James sat.

"Was that so hard?"

Bellatrix giggled as Voldemort raised his wand.  He shot her a stern look while James sat rigidly, staring longingly at his friend.

"Now, I'm afraid that I haven't been a proper host.  You've been my guest for what?  Nearly four days now?  And I haven't even fed you properly.  You must, after all, keep up your strength."

He clapped his hands, and a steaming array of food appeared on the table.

"I've had it prepared for you, so I expect you to enjoy it.  You will not have many opportunities for pleasure, so take this one."

James had a difficult time keeping himself from snatching the nearest piece of meat and swallowing it whole. His hand shook as he held it back. He'd seen nothing but a stale chunk of something and a small watery bowl of He-Didn't-Want-To-Know-What since his arrival.  He'd hungrily eaten the Stale Something and drained the He-Didn't-Want-To-Know-What, but how long ago had that been?  It certainly had not been much.  He privately suspected it had been an accident, as well.

"What about Sirius?" James asked finally.

"What _about _Sirius?" Voldemort countered.

"Give it to him."

"No.  Not a morsel."

James' hopes crumbled. "Then I won't eat, either." He turned to look Voldemort full on, meeting the scarlet gaze.

Voldemort's only reply was to tap his wand against the chains binding Sirius.  They momentarily glowed brighter, and Sirius' eyes flared with pain.  He inhaled sharply as the chains shifted and resettled. 

"Eat.  Or he will suffer.  Every time you stop…" His voice trailed off, but they both knew he didn't have to finish.

James picked up the fork and dipped it into a stew.  He brought it unsteadily to his mouth.  Oh, how good it smelled.  Oh, how good it tasted.  Hot and rich on his hungry tongue.

Another bite and another, he could see Sirius staring with a covetous look on his face.  His mouth was watering so much that he was practically drooling.

"Oh, Sirius."  James held out a forkful for him. 

_"Crucio."_  Voldemort cast the spell, holding his wand directly under Sirius' chin.  The resulting shrieks caused James to drop the fork entirely.

"It's for you.  Not for him.  Was I unclear?  Are you so lacking in manners that you would reject such a generous gift?"

James reached for the fallen fork, shaking so badly that he knocked over a dish on the way.  He could hardly get anything into his mouth let alone swallow, but it seemed to satisfy Voldemort.

After five swallows, James felt as though he could eat no more.  His eyes sought out and met Sirius' hollow, sunken eyes.  Sirius had yet to regain his breath from shrieking. 

Three more forced swallows and he started to hold his stomach.

"James…stop…stop…" Sirius' eyes were pleading.

James flicked his eyes to Voldemort.  Could he stop?  There was no order to eat _everything_, after all.  Seeing no indication one way or the other, his eyes flicked back to Sirius.

"Stop…"

He let the fork fall.

He knew immediately that it was an error.  Thirteen and a half inches of polished yew told him clearly.  The wand came down gently on the chains, lingering there.

The chains began to glow, but this was not James' primary concern.  They began to wrap themselves tighter and tighter…and tighter.  Slowly but steadily, they constricted.  Sirius let out a strangled gasp as he struggled for air.

"Stop it, he'll die!" James started fumbling already for the fallen fork.

"Yes, I dare say he will, won't he?"

James' hand found the fork.  "Where will you be if your leverage dies?"

"Where will you be if your actions kill him?  Can't bring him back, no matter who wins in the end, can you?"

A carrot somehow found its way into James' mouth, preventing his reply.  Voldemort lifted his wand, and the chains stopped shrinking.  They did not, however, loosen back to what they had been.

Sirius painfully and laboriously drew in each breath; hunger still filling his eyes.  

Forcing down bite after bite, James tried to convince himself that he was helping his friend.  He told himself again and again that the longer he could keep this up, the longer he could keep Sirius from torture.  If he could only finish... somehow everything would be alright. Keeping his eyes on Sirius, he tried to silently convey, _It__ will end.  It will be alright.  Just three more days._  Haunted eyes stared back at him, and he could not ignore them, nor could he tear his eyes away.  

It was the eyes that finally told him.  It was not the pain that would follow, it was this, now, that was the worst torture for Sirius.  It was watching, with starving eyes, while James ate, that was killing Sirius.  Each passing second became more and more difficult with the knowledge that it was his own actions that were causing his friend so much pain.  Finally, James had to look away from his friend's face.  Sirius had pleaded for James to stop before.  He'd meant it for James' benefit, but James realised now that he'd also meant it for his own.

"No more…let me stop…"

Voldemort's face spread into a wide grin.  "What's the magic word?"

James could only stare.

"I'm not asking for any fancy spells or incantations, boy.  Just a little bit of politeness for your elders."

"Please."

"That's the one."

James tried again.  "Let me stop…please."

Voldemort clapped his hands with a flourish.  The food vanished.

James promptly vomited.

"What happened to being polite?" James jumped slightly at the sound of Rodolphus' voice behind him.  He'd forgotten that the pair was there.  The mere motion of jumping made him vomit again. 

Voldemort delicately stepped around the spreading pool.  "Clean it up, Potter.  I want it spotless when I return."

He headed for the door, Rodolphus and Bellatrix on his heels.  

"Wait…" James could hardly believe his own daring.  But it had worked once…

"Yes?" Voldemort did not turn to face him.

"He can't breathe.  Let him go... or at least loosen the chains…_please_."  James was dangerously close to begging, but he somehow didn't care.

"No."  The three swept out, and the door swung shut.

As the tension melted from his muscles, James sank into the chair.  But one look at Sirius forced him to his feet.

"Padfoot…I'm so sorry…"

"Not…your…fault…" There was no voice behind the words, only a wisp of air.

James tugged at the chains, but they held fast.  "Stay with me, Padfoot.  Hang in there."

"Try…ing…"

"Good."

It took James until that point to realize that Sirius was staring at the vomit.  He nearly apologized when he saw with horror that Sirius was staring at it _hungrily._  

"Sirius...?"  He looked warily at his friend.  "When is the last time you ate anything?"

Sirius didn't answer, but his eyes said it all.  He had no idea.  His mouth was still watering.  "What do they feed you, Sirius?"

"Don't... ask..."  

James winced.  The decisions went through his head, and he knew there was only one thing he could do.  "Of all the things I never thought I'd do... this was never even on the list, Padfoot."  Bending over, he looked at the second time around stew.  It was almost entirely intact.  He'd hardly had time to digest it, after all.  Finding a piece of meat, he picked it up and shook it off. 

"Sirius.  Come on.  You're going to get something into your stomach today.  I know it's not exactly ideal, but it's probably better than what you usually get anyway."  Touching the soggy meat to Sirius' lips, James coaxed it into his mouth.  "That's it.  Come on."

Sirius clearly thought he'd died and gone to heaven, judging from the way his eyes fluttered.  James gently put his hand on Sirius' cheek, carefully helping where he could.  Then, Sirius started to swallow, and everything began to go wrong.  

It looked as though Sirius was trying to cough, but hardly any sound came out. Matters only became worse as he struggled for breath. The obstruction shifted to block his airway completely, putting a stop to the ragged gasps and high pitched wheezing of only a moment before.  James started to panic.  With Sirius chained to the chair, it would be almost impossible for him to help his friend. Sirius' eyes bulged as he tried to force the piece of meat out of his throat.  His face was turning red from lack of air, and James was sure he would be thrashing around if he hadn't been tied down.  As it was, he was straining against the bonds as much as he could.  Unfortunately, Sirius was only hurting himself in the process.

"Stop squirming for a minute!" James commanded, positioning himself in front of Sirius.  Unfortunately, his friend's instincts wouldn't allow him to stop.  Drawing back his arm, he apologized before punching Sirius in the stomach as hard as he could.  Sirius' body jerked forward as much as it could, but he was still choking.  James punched again.  It took three more tries before Sirius coughed up the meat.

Sirius gasped weakly a few more times as James knelt by his side, apologizing repeatedly, not being able to do anything more to help his friend.

"Ja..."  Sirius coughed more.  James hurried to wipe up anything that came up lest Sirius choke again.

"What is it?'

"Don't."

"Don't?  Don't what?"

"Don't... try... help... me.  Can't.  Worry... 'bout... your... self... don't... give... in."  Sirius' eyes rolled up as the effort robbed him of what little strength he had.

James thought that this might possibly be worse than any torture Voldemort could dream up.  Sirius was, he hated to admit, right.  There was nothing he could do.  Kneeling by his friend's side, clasping his hand, James wept.


	6. Day Five

**Day Five**

_"James…" Again, he coughed painfully.  "Don't…give him what he wants…"_

_James had swallowed.  "I won't."_

_"Promise me."  Sirius' blue eyes finally flickered open and met his with something very close to desperation.  "I didn't come this far…to watch you give up everything."_

_"I'm not letting you die," he'd whispered, then swallowed again.  "But I promise."_

Sirius could hardly scream, now.

Day after day, James had watched his best friend tortured, and had hated his own foolish promise the entire time.  Principles were beginning to fall by the wayside as he was forced to watch Sirius suffer, watched him grow weaker and weaker and struggle to not die inside.  Somehow, he knew that despite the ten years Sirius had already spent in hell, this was far worse.  His friend's tense form gave that away, and no matter how deeply Sirius tried to hide it, James could tell he was afraid.  He was struggling and he was fighting, and it was obvious that Sirius would never give in—but he was in so much pain.

And James had watched, for five days, as the Lestranges tortured Sirius in every way known to wizard kind.  He had watched, sickly, as they forced potions down his throat to keep him alive and revived him when he passed out from weakness and pain.  All the while, Voldemort had only smiled, laughing softly and knowingly.  The Dark Lord was waiting, James knew.  Waiting for him to break.

But what had seemed like such a distant possibility five days ago now looked downright attractive.  If it hadn't been for the knowledge that in two more days' time he would be able to save his friend, James knew for sure that he would have given in.  Voldemort had been right about one thing: he loved Sirius like a brother, and he couldn't bear to watch him suffer.  Watching Sirius die little by little was killing James inside…and there had been several moments when he would have given anything to save his friend, hidden wand and Portkey or no.  This was going too far.

Sirius' painful struggle for air filled the silence.  He lay on the floor, now, released from the hold of two Dementors and with Rodolphus Lestrange standing over him.  Surprisingly enough, the Dementors drifted back, still present but obviously out of the way—however, that change was far from relieving, and a sudden sinking feeling developed in James' stomach.  

Sirius lay on his side, half-curled into a ball, limp and shaking.  James saw the blood trickling out from the corner of his mouth as he moaned softly.  Though his eyes were only half open and unfocused, Sirius was obviously conscious enough to feel pain.  He moaned again as Rodolphus kicked him over to his stomach, but James could see that he was barely registering anything other than the agony.  Fear made him swallow, though James wasn't quite sure what he dreaded so much.  On one hand, he was terrified that they would push too far and kill Sirius—but on the other, he desperately hoped that they would let him slip into unconsciousness and give Sirius even that small amount of peace.

Rodolphus kicked him again, but there was hardly any response.  When he did a third time, all Sirius did was twitch.  The Death Eater snarled under his breath, glancing at his wife.  "Another potion?"

Bellatrix  suddenly shook her head, raising her wand.  "There are other ways, Rodolphus," she reminded her husband, stepping forward.  "_Crucio!_"

Sirius gasped, but his reaction could hardly be called a scream by any means.  His body jerked weakly off the floor, and it was clear that he had to fight to breathe through the pain.  James struggled not to shout at Bellatrix while she held his best friend under the torture curse, only doing so because he had learned the hard way that he wouldn't be the one to pay the price for that.  After a few moments, though, Bellatrix withdrew the curse and walked over to Sirius' side.  Carelessly, she shoved him over to his back, intentionally kicking him in his broken right shoulder as she did so.

"Wake up, cousin."  She chuckled as Sirius moaned in pain.

There was no further reaction, but when Bellatrix raised her wand again, Sirius flinched.  She only smiled, turning to her husband.  "I think he'll be suitably…_attentive,_ now.  Don't you?"

"Indeed."  Without further ado, Rodolphus turned back towards Sirius, lazily pointing his wand at the helpless wizard.  "_Rumperis__._"

The tone had been mild, but the sickening _crack_ the bone breaking spell caused was not.  Sirius cried out, and James saw his body jerk as his left shoulder broke.  But Rodolphus was far from finished, and his wand found a new focus on Sirius' left arm as he spoke the spell a second time.

_They're not—_James felt sick; he couldn't even finish the thought.  But they were.  Methodically, Lestrange broke bone after bone, smiling slightly as Sirius cried out in agony and his body convulsed in pain.  All the while, Bellatrix only grinned, standing a few feet away from James and glancing at him from time to time.

"Did you think we'd stop at simple whippings and torture curses, _Jimmy_?" she mocked him gleefully.  "Do you think this is the worst we have done?"

James didn't even look at her; he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.  His eyes were still locked on Sirius, though he could not bear to watch.  Even his friend's cries were weakening again, and now he was shaking erratically, alternately twitching and convulsing as if his body could not find the strength to cope with the pain.  But Bellatrix leaned close to him, whispering in his ear.

"Do you think that he's not afraid?" she asked quietly.  "He hides it well, but not well enough.  And no matter how strong he is, he'll give in eventually.  There will come a point when he won't want to hang on, where he just wants to die…"

Sirius screamed as Rodolphus cast the bone breaking curse on his already broken right shoulder.  Bellatrix chuckled softly.

"He's been there before, you know," she continued with satisfaction.  "More than once.  But we've never let him die…and we won't.  He's suffered for ten years.  How much longer will _you _make that?"

James closed his eyes, trying to shut her voice out.  He didn't need to listen to her sick parody of his conscience, didn't need to be reminded of how this was all his fault.  _Two days_, he told himself once more, struggling for self-control.  _Two days.  Just two days._  It was his mantra, now.  _Two more days, and then this will be over_.  The darker side of his mind, though, added a new thought to that vow: _And I'm going to kill Bellatrix Lestrange before this is over._  There were very few certainties in his life at that moment, but James knew two for sure: he was going to rescue Sirius, and he was going to kill Bellatrix.  End of story.  _Soon_.

A sharp scream made his eyes fly open.  "Pay attention, Jimmy," Bellatrix chided him, not giving him time for more murderous thoughts.  Sirius was writhing again under the influence of Rodolphus' Cruciatus Curse, but she pointed her wand in his direction anyway.  "This is for your benefit, after all—_Adficios__ Me!_"

The screams turned immediately to strangled gasps.  Sirius' body shuddered, and James could see the weakness hit him as Bellatrix's spell sucked his strength away.  He felt his eyes widen in shock, though, when Bellatrix held the spell—he couldn't believe that she would dare.  Within seconds, Sirius was hardly breathing.  He was straining for air, making soft noises of agony with each breath he managed to drag in.  But both of Voldemort's torturers maintained the curses, and the moments ticked by like hours.  Sirius' body stopped jerking, and he lay almost still, shaking and gasping.  When a strained cry died off into choking, James snapped.

"Damn you!  Don't you see he's going to—"

_"Crucio!"_  In the blink of an eye, Bellatrix withdrew the Strength Stealing Curse and replaced it with the Cruciatus.  Sirius shuddered sickly, letting out another choked cry of pain.  "Manners, Potter," she drawled.

James' mouth shut with a snap.  He was so angry that he was shaking, but one look at his best friend drowned all his fury into worry.  Sirius was fading quickly—and then it happened.  His attempts at breathing failed, and he started to choke.

Seconds ticked by.  James bit his tongue, hard, only able to keep his silence because he feared what Bellatrix would do to Sirius if he _didn't_.  He could only watch in sick fascination, praying helplessly.  _Please hold on.  Don't let go.  _But how long did she think she could push this?  Couldn't she see that Sirius didn't have anything left?  But they both held him under the curse, and Sirius' choking began to slow and fade.  Finally, as he stopped struggling altogether and slumped, the Lestranges released him.

There was only silence.  Sirius lay on the floor, limp and unmoving.  He choked once, and then lay still, exhausted.  Frozen, all James could do was stare, unable to even reach his friend because of the chair he was bound to.  He was holding his breath, desperately hoping that Sirius would start breathing again—but he remained still.  James saw his body twitch once in agony, but there was nothing else.  _No.  Please, no…_  James was shaking. _Not now.  Not Sirius…_

Suddenly, Rodolphus moved forward.  He no longer held his wand; instead, there was a small vial in his right hand.  Bending over, the Death Eater grabbed Sirius by the hair with his left hand, dragging his head up.  There was no resistance, no response.  Quickly, Rodolphus forced the potion down Sirius' throat.  Then he released Sirius and let him drop back to the floor with a sickening crunch.  A long moment passed before Sirius choked again.

"_Ennervate_." Bellatrix's voice was cold, but her spell was well aimed.  Sirius choked once more, twitched in pain, and then finally began to breathe raggedly.

Sirius moaned softly, and James blinked back tears of relief.  His friend still laid half-dead on the floor, but he was breathing.  He was alive.

"Well, well, well…" She stepped forward, poking Sirius again in the shoulder with her foot.  He moaned again.  "Trying to give up now, are we?"

Sirius only twitched, beginning to shake as the potion took further affect.  James bit his lip, praying that the Lestranges wouldn't be stupid enough to hurt him more—not now, when he was so weak.  But they hadn't stopped torturing him for the last five days; always, either Bellatrix, Rodolphus, or Rabastan was present, not letting Sirius rest and keeping him in pain. They had no reason to stop now; the Death Eaters didn't care how close he came to death, only that they didn't kill him.  James swallowed, forcing back tears that threatened to rise.  _He doesn't deserve this!  _Sirius was moaning quietly again, shaking as the Lestranges stood and watched.  They hadn't even done anything else, but he was so weak…

The door opened.  The immediate feeling of coldness told him who it had to be, and when Bellatrix and Rodolphus stepped back, bowing, James knew he was right.  He heard the rattling breathing of Dementors come and saw Sirius shudder weakly.  _Not now_, he wanted to plead aloud, and almost did.  Of all times for Voldemort to show up, this was quite possibly the worst for Sirius.  The limp way in which his friend lay on the floor told James that he had so very little left at all.  Soon, Sirius wouldn't be _able _to fight any more, regardless of what he wanted to do. 

James had known Sirius for years.  No matter how long they had been apart, he still knew him like a brother, still knew what made Sirius _Sirius__._  He knew that his friend hadn't ever had an inch of give in him, hadn't ever learned how to surrender or how to give up—but he also knew that a dark and terrible truth was unavoidable.  Sirius, no matter how strong he was, was human.  And sooner or later, his body would not let him fight. 

When that moment came, he'd die.

There wasn't any option or choice about it.  The human body could only go so far.  Sirius had already survived ten years of hell—how, James did not know—but there was only so much further he could push himself.  Did Voldemort realize that?  James shivered as the Dementors drifted closer, but the question still lurked in his mind.  The Dark Lord had spoken of keeping Sirius alive, of forcing him to live until James gave in…but even Voldemort was not infallible.  Sooner or later, someone make a mistake, and Sirius would die.  _Cold._  He could only pray that day would not be today.

"Any second thoughts, yet, James?"

The voice was sickeningly friendly.  James blinked, suddenly realizing that Voldemort was standing right over him; he'd been lost in his dark and frightened thoughts, more influenced by the Dementors than he'd realized.  Behind the Dark Lord stood Lucius Malfoy, whose aristocratic face was alight with curiosity and glee.  The Death Eater's gray eyes were focused on Sirius, and they were every bit as calculating as James had ever seen them—but he saw a hint of triumph there that he hadn't expected.  _He already knew about Sirius,_ James realized furiously.  _The bastard has known for years._

Of course he had.  Veiled little comments that Malfoy had made during their past encounters suddenly made so much more sense, and James would have slapped himself if he had been able…but Sirius was alive, and that was all that mattered.  _Now I just have to keep him that way_.  The thought made him swallow, feeling cold inside.  Such a simple task…yet it could possibly be the most difficult thing he'd done in his life.  It all boiled down to choice—and to two days.  _Two days.  Only two more days…_

"I see you've learned the value of silence," the Dark Lord commented with a chuckle.  With an effort, James brought his eyes up to meet that burning red gaze, struggling not to shudder.  Yes, he had learned the value of silence; rather, he'd learned the price of defiance.  He hadn't broken, not by any means…but he'd not make Sirius suffer more.  Voldemort knew exactly how to make James _behave_.  All it took was a simple threat.

He did not answer, did not need to.  Both he and the Dark Lord knew it was useless.  He only had eyes for his best friend, who still lay helpless and shaking on the floor.  There was nothing he could do…nothing at all.  James swallowed again, and tried to force himself to remember.  _Two days.  Two days and I can save him_.  Voldemort's soft chuckle made his eyes snap away from Sirius once more, though.

"There are, however, a few lessons you have left to learn."  The Dark Lord never turned his gaze away from James.  He spoke, instead, with complete confidence that his orders would be carried out without hesitation.  "The _Poenatoxicum_, Lucius."

Although the name meant nothing to James, his mind immediately translated the words far enough into English to identify the term as a potion name.  _More like poison.  _His worried gaze quickly followed Malfoy the senior Death Eater turned to Bellatrix Lestrange with a slight smile.  "Would you care to do the honors?"

Sirius' cousin stepped forward immediately.  "Why, thank you, Lucius," she purred, accepting the vial he held out.  Neither of them cast so much as a glance at Sirius' shaking form during their exchange; for all the world, the two Death Eaters could have been discussing that night's dinner selections.

Without further ado, Bellatrix strode over to Sirius' side, glancing only to Voldemort for permission.  The Dark Lord nodded, making a sinking feeling twist James' stomach into a knot.  But he did not dare object.

Sirius still lay limply, straining for air and shaking.  His eyes were only half-open, but he had to be aware because he flinched as Bellatrix grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back just as Rodolphus had done before.  She laughed as Sirius moaned in pain.  "Drink up, cousin."

He gagged and choked as she forced the _Poenatoxicum_ down his throat.  Then she dropped him again, and Sirius shuddered painfully.  Bellatrix stepped back, grinning and there was a short moment of silence. James, the four Death Eaters, and Lord Voldemort merely watched, waiting—though for what James did not know.  And he dreaded finding out.  A long second passed.  Then another.

Sirius twitched.

At first it was nothing.  He only twitched again.  But then Sirius gasped, and then his body began shaking harder, until finally he began to convulse in pain.  A sick cry shattered the silence and suddenly James became aware of Voldemort standing beside him.

"_Poenatoxicum_, James," the Dark Lord said softly.  "A very dark and very old potion—almost impossible to brew."  Even though his eyes were still fixed on Sirius, James heard the smile in his voice.  "Fortunately, I have an expert Potions Master."

_Snape._  Suddenly, he hated the old enemy who had long ago become a valued ally.  It wasn't rational—Snape likely had no idea who he brewed the potion for use upon—but James still wanted to murder him for causing Sirius so much pain.  Sirius was screaming weakly now, though the noises he made could not really be called screams at all.  They were more like high-pitched gasps of pain, a cross between agony and a struggle to breathe.

Voldemort leaned close to him.  "As you can see, _Poenatoxicum_ is every bit as agonizing as the Cruciatus Curse—even more so, I would dare say.  But there is far less risk of insanity involved."

Sirius' body was jerking as he screamed.  Staring, James blinked back tears.  He knew where this was going.

"Unfortunately for your friend, the pain is only stopped by one of two things: the antidote or death."

Sirius was almost wailing in pain.

"So the choice is yours.  Agree to serve me, and I will give him the antidote.  Otherwise…"

James bit down on his lower lip until he tasted blood.  He knew that Voldemort would not _kill_ Sirius—_but God, how much more will he make him suffer?_  James hadn't thought that he could hate himself any more than he did right now.  Even the burning hatred he felt for Voldemort was no match for how much he despised himself for letting this happen.  For not stopping it.  For asking Sirius to be his Secret Keeper back in 1981—_He doesn't deserve this!_  James wanted to sob as he watched his best friend writhe in pain, his screams interspersed with weak moans.

"Which will it be, James?"

It was not a question he should have asked, for they both knew the answer.  No matter how much James was beginning to want to, he _couldn't_.  And duty alone could no longer stop him, but Sirius had made him promise.  He couldn't break faith with his friend, even though he should—his heart was screaming at him.  _You have to stop this!  He can only last so long, and if Sirius dies, everything you've been fighting for during the last ten years will have been for nothing.  _James wanted to cry.  _He's been fighting for me for so long.  It's time that someone fought for him_.  Yet what would he be if he broke the promise that Sirius had demanded he make?  He felt so cold, so helpless, so _cruel_.

"You know my answer," James whispered painfully.

"Do I?" Voldemort's reply was surprisingly gentle.  "Your loyalty is your weakness… can you bear to watch him die?"

Silence, broken only by Sirius' agonized cries, which were growing more quiet by the moment.  He was writhing weakly in agony, and his eyes were tightly shut now; they had almost disappeared into his sunken face.  Matted black hair covered some of his features, but even behind that, James could tell that Sirius' face was contorted in pain.  He was suffering greatly, even though his cries were quiet.

"The real question, though, is how long you will make him suffer," Voldemort said after a long moment.  "It's up to you."

_Oh, Sirius…_

"What will it be, James?  The longest he's ever been under _Poenatoxicum_ is thirteen hours.  Would you care to see how long he can really last?"

James closed his eyes.  "No."

_"Crucio._"  Sirius screeched.  "Open your eyes, Jimmy."

It was Bellatrix.  James' eyes flew open immediately, but she held his friend under the curse.  Sirius' body jerked off of the floor and came back down on his right shoulder with a sickening crunch.

"Enough, Bella," the Dark Lord commanded.  She complied instantly, leaving Sirius gasping for air.  

"Yes, Master."  Bellatrix stepped back to her husband and brother-in-law's side. 

"So what will it be?  Your service, or his pain?"  Then Voldemort turned back to face James.  His red eyes were like ice.

He couldn't bring himself to say it, could hardly even bear to think it.  _Please forgive me, Sirius._  Finally, James managed to whisper, "My answer is still the same."

"Very well."  Voldemort gestured imperiously.  "Put our guest back in his cell, Rabastan.  Bella, Rodolphus, Lucius, come with me."

"And him, Master?" Rabastan Lestrange spoke for the first time, gesturing at Sirius.  James' friend was moaning quietly.

"Leave him.  He'll suffer alone."

-------------------


	7. Day Six

**Day Six**

The loneliness would have killed him if James hadn't known that Sirius was suffering not far away.  Hours had passed, though he had no way of knowing how many—but the cries he heard had quieted, and for some time now, he had heard _nothing.  _The silence was more than unnerving; it was tearing him apart inside.

A logical corner of James' mind told him that he ought to at least try to sleep.  Between the nightmares in his mind and those that his best friend was living through, rest came extremely hard.  James wasn't sure when the last time he'd slept was, but he was sure that it had been at least two days.  His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but he had no desire to rest—not now, not with Sirius suffering in unknown ways.  James had learned the hard way that they would not let his friend rest peacefully.  There were moments, though, when it felt impossible to keep his eyes open…

James awoke with a start.  He must have slept, although he had no way of telling how long.  He was losing all concept of time in Azkaban, and the only thing he could tell for sure from his windowless cell was that the days passed.  What little routine existed in the prison let him know that the next day would be his sixth—or was it all ready?  His body's interior clock told James that it _felt _like the middle of the night, but he could no longer trust his senses to be dependable.  No matter how much he had prepared for this mission, nothing could make you ready for Azkaban.  _Especially now._

It had to be day six already.  Squinting into the dull light—the dimness of which never changed—James estimated that it was early morning.  Maybe. He had no way to know, but his body insisted that he ought to be sleeping now, and he had slept already—it had to be almost dawn, unless he'd only dozed for minutes or seconds, in which case there was no way of knowing.  He hoped that it was near dawn, though.  If so, there would only be one more day.  _One more day._  James resisted the urge to shout his relief or else to cry.  A day.  Less than twenty-four hours from now, it would all be over.  And Sirius would be free.

Leaning against the wall, James wrapped his arms around his knees and waited.  He'd grown accustomed to waiting, though his every instinct rebelled against it.  _Not much longer, _the Auror promised himself. Before long, he could finally act—yet even sooner, the screams would begin.  He felt cold, but it was true.  Whatever happened would happen soon.

"Any second thoughts, _Jimmy_?" a mocking voice asked him, making James jump.  Whatever her lack of mental faculties might indicate, Bellatrix Lestrange could still move like a cat, unlike her clumsy and noisy colleagues.

He lifted his eyes to glare at her.  Only Voldemort had earned more of his ire than Sirius' once-beautiful cousin.  She had easily proved herself to be the sickest person James had ever met.

"No," he grated, biting back the desire to tell her exactly what she could do with her 'second chances.'  _One more day, _he consoled his temper.  _Just one_.

"Very well."

Bellatrix shrugged passively, and then she was gone.  James frowned, trying to comprehend her irrelevant actions—then realized abruptly that she had left his cell door _unlocked_.  Immediately, he was on his feet.  If there was a better way, a faster way, he'd damn well take it—then the door slammed open with a crash and cold air rushed in.

_"Where will you be if your leverage dies?"_

_"Where will you be if your actions kill him?  Can't bring him back, no matter who wins in the end, can you?"_

Freezing cold.

_"James…stop…"_

Dementors.  At least three of them, but James somehow crumbled to the ground, and resistance, once so easy, was completely impossible.

_"Don't do this." _

_"Ah, but I can do whatever I please," Voldemort replied, strolling towards him.  "Surely you have realized that by now?"_

Cold hands grabbed him, and a hundred nightmares warred for precedence in James' mind.  The Dementors were dragging him, pulling James' shaking body forward easily.  Every decision that he'd ever made was coming back to haunt him.  _Sirius…Oh, Sirius…_  He was so cold.  Hope, which he'd felt so briefly, had died within him, had been sucked away.  Even the tiny corner of his mind that retained intelligence despaired.  He knew where the Dementors were taking him.  James knew that the cycle was starting all over again.

_"Do you think that he's not afraid?  He hides it well, but not well enough.  And no matter how strong he is, he'll give in eventually.  There will come a point when he won't want to hang on, where he just wants to die…"_

_Sirius screamed as Rodolphus cast the bone breaking curse on his already broken right shoulder.  Bellatrix chuckled softly._

A door opened, and suddenly James was released.  His ineffective legs collapsed out from under him immediately, and he hit the floor with a painful thud.  At his back, the Dementors began to retreat, clearing his mind a little.  He was still cold, so cold…

Sirius.

James was on his feet without understanding how he'd gotten there.  He was in Sirius' cell, he realized all of a sudden, and all of his previous worries were immediately forgotten.  Sirius lay crumbled on the floor, on his side and convulsing in pain.  He was hardly making any noise at all, yet his breathing was hard and every few moments Sirius would whimper softly in pain.  He was shaking badly, and James could hear the agony caused by each breath he took.  Sirius' eyes were shut tightly, but even that could not hide the pain.

"Twelve hours, Jimmy."

Bellatrix Lestrange's voice made James spin around.  She stood framed in the doorway, smiling what might have been a sweet smile if it wasn't so sick.  Immediately, Voldemort's words came to mind—_"What will it be, James?  The longest he's ever been under Poenatoxicum is thirteen hours.  Would you care to see how long he can really last?"_  He swallowed and bit back an angry response before Bellatrix's vindictiveness could come further into play.  He'd learned the hard way that she'd only hurt Sirius if he let her bait him, and James wasn't about to give her that satisfaction.

"Keep that in mind as you make him suffer."

"I—"

The door slammed shut before James could finish his protest, feeling sick inside.  As much as his heart ached to deny it, he knew that this was his fault.  It was his fault that Sirius was being hurt, that he was in so much pain… James had made his choice knowing that it would cost, but he still hated the price he was forced to pay.  _One more day,_ he reminded himself desperately, but that reassuring thought was no longer so reassuring.  One day, James finally realized, could last a lifetime.

Sirius moaned.

His anger forgotten, James rushed to his friend's side.  Sirius' eyes were opening and closing periodically, unfocused and full of pain.  He lay as if he'd simply been dumped on the floor and hadn't been able to move since.  Even as James knelt next to him, though, Sirius' didn't react.  He only kept shaking and kept whimpering in pain.  It was only then that James realized that Sirius did not even know that he was there.  He was in too much pain to notice, too caught up in hell.

"Sirius?"

His friend's blue eyes struggled to flick open, and then slid shut once again.  James reached out a shaking hand to touch Sirius' clammy forehead.  It was becoming hard to breathe around the lump in his throat.

"Padfoot?" James whispered worriedly.  He didn't even know if his friend _could _talk, or could register anything around him—but he had to try and get through to Sirius.  He hadn't been able to really talk to his friend since that very first day, and James couldn't bear the thought of having Sirius think that he didn't care, that he wasn't trying to end this—

Sirius coughed.

"Ja…" It cut off into a moan.  Sirius' half-open eyes rolled back in pain.  His body jerked harder.

"I'm so sorry," James whispered.  He'd said it before, and would undoubtedly say it a thousand times more before everything was over—but he meant it.  Oh, he meant it, right from the depths of a heart that was threatening to break.  "I'm so sorry that he keeps doing this to you when his real target is me—"

"Do…n't… I—" a soft cry cut his words off, even though James could tell that Sirius had tried valiantly to hold it back.  Sirius bit his lip as another whimper emerged, struggling to stay in control, but James could see the agony on his face.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked quickly.

"N-o…"

Sirius shuddered, and failed to hold back another cry.   He couldn't scream, James suddenly realized.  He was far too weak, now, and in too much pain.  That, however, did not mean that he didn't want to.  The damn potion was keeping him in agony, making him suffer and suffer… And it had already been twelve hours.  _Twelve hours.  _James could not even imagine the pain that Sirius was in, could hardly begin to understand, but he knew that Sirius was facing hell right now.  Breathing was clearly agony, and the way he was shaking showed how much strain his body was under.  Sirius' eyes were flickering open and shut once more, and James guessed that his friend did not even realize they were doing so.  He'd faced so much and been so strong already, but James had to wonder how much longer that would last.  Everyone had their limits—he shivered.  _"Everyone breaks.  It is only a matter of time and method."_

_No.  _He shoved the thought away.  _Not Sirius.  Not ever._

Sirius coughed again, and then gagged painfully.  His breathing was becoming even more ragged as the potion continued to do its work, but James could see him trying to hold back the pain, to hide everything he could.  He was fighting with everything he had to bury it deep inside where James couldn't see it.  Another man might have asked why, but James knew the answer.

"You don't have to hide it, Padfoot," he whispered softly, brushing tangled hair out of his friend's eyes.  "You don't have to be so strong.  Not now."

Sirius looked at him, blinking several times before he managed to focus.  For a long moment, James could only stare into his friend's eyes, seeing the agony and the pain and the pressure he was under.  Those blue eyes had once been so full of life, but now they were very nearly dead; there was only pain.  And there was no hope—only exhaustion that James couldn't hope to relieve.  For a moment, James thought he saw fear flash in his friend's eyes, but he must have been imagining, because it was gone in a second.

"I…" Sirius shuddered again, and something very lost flickered through his eyes before he looked away, blinking again.

"Sirius? Are you all right?"

His friend's eyes slid shut.  "I'm…" he coughed, and shook harder.  "…fine."

_No you're not_, James realized abruptly, and the knowledge frightened him.  He'd only once seen Sirius afraid, and that had been nothing like this… Maybe he hadn't been imagining that fear before.  Or perhaps there was something else.  Either way, he _had_ to do something.  Anything.  He couldn't let Sirius suffer alone, even if he couldn't alleviate the pain.  James spoke gently.  "You're not fine."

"I'm…fi..." Sirius' body jerked and he cried out softly.  James swallowed hard, watching his friend try to deny the hell that lived inside his mind.  He was too strong, far too strong—but it had to stop somewhere. 

"Sirius…" he whispered.

His friend tried to argue once more, but whimpered in pain instead.  Sirius forced his eyes open again, though, and James could not stand seeing the loneliness behind the agony.  He hesitated for a short moment, and then pulled his best friend into his arms.

Anyone other than Remus or Peter wouldn't have understood.  No other man would have understood how simple friendship could have brought four wizards so close that they were indeed brothers.  Few other men would have reached out to a friend the way James had, and fewer still would recognize what it really meant.  James' _brother_ needed help, and that was all that mattered.  Sirius was shaking painfully against James' chest, and he was whimpering quietly, obviously unable to bite the reactions back.  James hugged him close.

"You're not alone, Sirius," he said quietly. "And you don't have to hide this…not from me."

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the whimpers that James knew Sirius couldn't hold back.  Sirius' body convulsed violently, and James saw his eyes shut tightly once again.  But he could tell that Sirius was still fighting to lock the pain inside, and to send with it the emotional damage that he'd buried so deeply.  He'd known Sirius for years, and the one thing he'd never, ever, been able to call him was weak.  _There is such a thing as being too strong,_ he wanted to say, but didn't.  How could he?

Sirius shuddered and cried out for no apparent reason, making James wonder if the poison's affects did not become more pronouncedover time.  Finally, to fill the awful silence, he had to ask, "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

He felt the shaky nod against his chest, but Sirius did not speak.  James was beginning to wonder if he could now, or if the pain was too great.  But he just held his friend, wishing that he could do more, even though he knew that was impossible.  Tears rose in his eyes as he listened to his friend struggle for air and make soft noises of pain, but there was _nothing that he could do._  James hated feeling helpless; he hated being inactive. He was nothing more than a spectator, really: forced to watch by Voldemort and locked out from Sirius' fears.  He was doomed to watch and to wait, and to be able to do nothing.  He couldn't even truly help his friend.

Long minutes passed while neither spoke; James just continued to hold his friend, who he noticed had not objected.  He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but he had to do something, and Sirius hadn't pulled away.  He leaned heavily against James, yet he felt very tense.  It was as if Sirius believed that he could hold the agony inside through sheer force of will.  But the whimpers were growing more numerous, and James could feel his friend's strength fading fast.

He wished that he knew what to say or what to do, but words failed James.  They had to be nearing the thirteen hour mark, and James almost found himself _wishing _that Voldemort would show up and give Sirius the antidote.  Certainly he wouldn't dare to push this too far…not now.  They had never made Sirius go past thirteen hours before, and looking at his friend, James wasn't sure if Sirius could make it that long.  He was already unable to scream, and almost unable to speak. Soon, they had to stop this.  Sirius whimpered quietly.

"It won't be much longer," James reassured him.

"Ja…" Sirius trailed off into a moan, and then took a ragged breath, seeming to gather his strength.  "He…said…"  He coughed and shuddered.  "Twenty…four…"

Another moan drowned the rest of Sirius' words, but James already felt cold.  _No._  He wanted to scream.  _No.  No.  No.  No!  _"Twenty-four hours?"

Sirius whimpered and nodded against his chest.

James' stomach twisted into a knot of pain.  "Sirius, I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling empty.  "God, I'm so sorry…"

"I—" Sirius moaned, and there was nothing James could do except pull him closer.  He swallowed.

"Can you make it?" he asked worriedly.

"Have…to…" he whimpered.

"I'm here for you," James added quietly, feeling like such a fool for assuming that things would get better.  _Azkaban is not a place to make assumptions_.  "No matter what, I'm here.  You don't have to face this alone."

Sirius tried to reply and failed, then finally nodded weakly.  After a long moment, though, his ghostly voice filled the silence.  It was obvious that he was straining to speak every word, but James could still hear the despair in his tone.

"I don…" Sirius convulsed.  "…don't…know…"

"Don't know what?"  James shivered.

"…how."

James swallowed back tears.  _Eleven more hours.__  Can he live through that?_  He felt sick inside.  James knew that Sirius would try, that he would keep fighting until the bitter end, but what if that wasn't enough?  "How to face this?"

Shakily, Sirius nodded, and James realized with a start that his best friend was holding back tears.

"Sirius?" he whispered.

Again, the reply was lost beneath a moan of pain. 

"Don't let go," James pleaded.

"I…wo—" Abruptly, Sirius cried out in agony, and his body buckled in James' arms. 

"What is it?"

"Hur—"

Sirius screamed.

James almost lost his grip on his friend as he convulsed.  Desperately, he clung to Sirius, trying not to let go of his friend's jerking body.  Somehow, Sirius screamed again, and James suddenly got the awful feeling that Voldemort had keyed the _Poenatoxicum_ to become worse after thirteen hours—because something was causing Sirius more pain than before.  His third scream was quieter, though, and the fourth was almost inaudible—Sirius was too weak to continue screaming, no matter how much it hurt.  It was all he could do to breathe, now, and James felt horror twist his stomach into a ball.

Suddenly, the dam broke, and Sirius' previous control shattered.  He began to sob.

James held him.  There was nothing else he could do.  Something told him that this was the first time Sirius had ever allowed himself to let go.  Somehow he knew that Sirius had never dared before, had been afraid that if he lost control he could never get it back.  But now there was too much pain, too much pressure.  They were alone, too, which was probably the deciding factor—he couldn't bury it inside forever, and this could be the only chance he ever had to let go.  So James held his best friend tight, doing everything he could, which could never be enough.

---------------

Sirius felt dead in James' arms when the cell door finally opened.  He was shaking erratically, and the only other indication that he was alive was his ragged breathing and periodic whimpers.  James had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but a lifetime would have been shorter.  By the time the Dementors swept in, they had to be near the twenty-four hour deadline.  James tensed as the foul creatures approached, trying to will his stiff body into reacting quickly enough to fight if he had to.  The Dementors were only floating at the fringes of the cell, but he was still so cold…

Sirius moaned.

Voldemort stepped in the cell, and James swallowed back the strangest feeling of hope.  He shouldn't have been glad that the Dark Lord was there, but that meant it _had _been twenty-four hours, and then that meant that it was over.  They would stop this—

"Are you ready to surrender, James?"

His traitorous heart almost said yes even while his lips said, "No."

"No?" the Dark Lord's voice was quiet, not as cold as usual.  He almost sounded human.  Slowly, Voldemort walked forward, his long robes swishing quietly with each step.  He stopped right in front of James and Sirius, almost close enough for the Auror to touch.  "Are you certain?  You will doom him, you realize, when instead you could save him."

"You know that I can't."

"Can't?"

James swallowed again.  Angering Voldemort always had the same result, and he was never the one who paid for that—Sirius, always Sirius, bore the brunt of the Dark Lord's sick fury.  But what could he do?  And how did Voldemort think to win?  He _knew _what James' answer had to be, so the imprisoned Auror remained silent.  Speaking again was of no use.

"Can't what, James?" Voldemort's voice was still quiet, too quiet.  "You think that you can't save him?"  He chuckled, shaking his head gently.  "I disagree.  Three words will do it: _I will serve_."

And one word doomed Sirius.  Every time.  James tightened his arms around his friend, closing his eyes against tears.  This was all his fault.  "No."

"As you say…" The Dark Lord shrugged eloquently.  "Though sometimes, I wonder…"

The silence was deafening; James shivered.  A small and twisted smile flickered across Voldemort's face for an instant, and then it was gone.  Finally, James could stand it no more.

"Wonder what?" he demanded.

"How much you do indeed _care _for your _friend_."  A small gesture at Sirius' shaking and half-conscious form said it all.  "You've left him to suffer for ten years, James…and now you do nothing to help him."

"I—"

Sick pain welled up in James' heart and made him unable to speak any more.  He hadn't known—he'd had no way to know—

Helplessly, he glanced down at Sirius.  His friend's eyes were closed again, and he was barely breathing.  If he hadn't been shaking so weakly, James would have thought he was unconscious…but he knew how Sirius was suffering.  His silence told the tale more than screams ever could; he could no longer scream, and was growing too drained to even react.  But the quietness did not mean he felt any less pain, now.  James had long since realized that Sirius felt everything, even when he did not seem able to.  Exhaustion did not shield him at all.

_And I left him to this._

"It makes me glad, sometimes, that I never shared the much-celebrated friendship of the 'Marauders'," Voldemort continued quietly.  "For if I were Black, I would not be very grateful to my _brother_ for leaving me to suffer."

Heartbreak.

"Take him."

Coldness.

"No!"

The Dementors snatched Sirius away before James could force his deadened muscles to respond to his commands.  Finally, as the Dementors reached the doorway, he managed to stagger to his feet.  James started forward, ignoring the memories that threatened to rise his mind—_"You've left him to suffer for ten years…"_  He had to reach Sirius, had to get him away—

There was a wand in his face, held lightly in a pale hand.  It was probably the first time Voldemort had not threatened Sirius to force James into compliance, but he didn't have time to think about the significance of that.  Nor did he even bother to wonder why the Dark Lord had come alone, without even his dear Bellatrix to keep him company.  James backed up a step, and then two. 

"The antidote…" he whispered.

"He will wait."

"But—"

"Dwell upon your choices, James," was the cool response.  "_Your _choices."

And then the door clanked shut and the Dark Lord was gone, leaving him in Sirius' cell to study the bloodstained floor.

---------------

An hour passed.  Maybe two.  He had no real way of knowing.

All James knew was the silence.  He could sit and stare at the bloodstains, but there was nothing more.  The floor was a dirty black-brown, dark red in some places and darker in others.  In comparison, James' cell was remarkably clean—but this had been the site of years of hell.  How long had Sirius lived in this horrid place?  Voldemort had taken Azkaban six years ago… James swallowed.  Six years of blood stained the floor he stood on.

He hadn't realized how much he'd become used to hearing the screams and cries.  But their absence ate at him even more than holding his suffering friend had done.  He didn't want to sit down, but he could no longer bear to pace.  James wanted simply to die as he thought about Sirius, wherever he was…

The words kept running through his head.

_"You've left him to suffer for ten years…"_

_"Your choice."___

"You do nothing to help him…"

Clank.

The cell door opened, and James was almost grateful to see the Dementors.  At least then he would know what was going on…

The short trip through the halls of Azkaban was blessedly blurred, but he felt as if he'd never be warm again.  Even the red-hot chains of the interrogation chair seemed cold—painful, but cold.  James was cold inside, dead and permanently cold.  _My choices.__  My fault._  He heard voices, but almost couldn't care.  He was torn between needing to see Sirius and wanting to drown in his own misery.  _My brother._

The Dementors backed away, leaving him to stare at Voldemort.  Voldemort again, but this time the Dark Lord wasn't alone.  All three of the Lestranges lined the back wall, though Malfoy was gone, now.  Perhaps he hadn't the patience to stay in Azkaban for an entire day.  _Twenty-four hours._  The thought snapped him out of his idle depression.

Sirius lay silently on the floor, whimpering every now and then as he tried to drag in a breath of air.  He wasn't even shaking, now—only twitching erratically.  Was he dying?  James couldn't tell.

_And what would you do if he did? _a cold voice whispered inside his mind.

He pushed it aside.  Sirius was _not _going to die.  He couldn't. _"Keep that in mind as you make him suffer…"_  James blinked, trying to clear his mind.  Was it worth it?  Was any of it worth Sirius' life?  He wanted to scream.  _Why the _hell _am I doing this?_

_"…As _you_ make him suffer."_

"Twenty-five hours, James," Voldemort said.  Again, his voice was frighteningly gentle.  "Do you _want _your best friend to die?"

"No."  He almost choked on the concept.

"No?"  An innocent turn of the too-pale face.  "I would think that it would make things so much _easier_… A simple end, and no more having to decide between your best friend and your _principles_."  He spat the last word out like a curse.  "Which will it be, James: friendship or honor?"

"There's no honor in betraying what your friends believe in," he finally whispered, but spirits, it was _hard_.

Voldemort snorted.  "Of course there isn't."

Sirius whimpered, almost inaudibly.

"Remember this," the Dark Lord said quietly.  "Remember when you defy me that I do not need to lift a hand to make him suffer…and that there is always a price to be paid.  This ends, _for now_, because I wish it to.  Not because it must."

He gestured.  "The antidote, Rodolphus.  Then return our guest to his cell and let him consider his options."

-------------------


	8. Day Seven

**Day Seven**

He was counting hours, which was a complicated project, considering that James had no way of knowing what time it was.  But he knew that today was the seventh day.  He knew that it was almost over—yet time seemed to crawl because of his anticipation.   It was almost impossible to act as if nothing was going to happen, as if today wasn't the day that he would finally be able to save his best friend.  Both the Portkey and the wand were scheduled to appear an hour before midnight, theoretically when the prison ought to be quietest.  So far, that had proved true, and James could only pray that today would be no different.

What frightened him was that Sirius had been so quiet.  Normally, James' time alone in his cell was punctuated by listening to his friend scream, but not today.  Was Sirius still too weak from the _Poenatoxicum_, or was this something more?  Worry gnawed at him, and James was so sick of doing _nothing_ that he was ready to scream.  _Soon, _he promised himself.  His best estimate meant that there were less than ten hours before midnight.  _Very soon._

He swallowed, thinking of his friend.  _Hang in there, Sirius.  It won't be much longer._  Shivering, James burrowed deeper into the corner of his cell and drew his knees up to his chest.  All he could do was wait.

_Clank_.  The thought had no sooner crossed his mind when the cell door slid open.  For some reason, he wasn't surprised to find Voldemort himself standing in the entrance; lately, James had noticed a marked increase in the amount of time that the Dark Lord spent taunting him.  _Don't you have a world to take over or something?_ he wanted to ask, but bit his tongue.  Foolish remarks like that only resulted in Sirius getting hurt.

"Hello, James."

James started, sitting up straighter and staring warily at the Dark Lord.  Voldemort was never polite.  He was never laid back.  And he was _never _friendly.  _What the hell is going on?_  The high-pitched voice had been entirely too quiet and congenial for his tastes. 

"I see that you're not much in the mood for conversation."  Voldemort stepped in the cell, letting the door slide shut behind him.  Only then did James realize that his opponent had come in alone, sans Dementors or demented Lestranges.  Something was very, very wrong.

He scrambled to his feet.  "Why should I be?"

The Dark Lord smiled.  "That is a good question," he continued softly.  "Because you are waiting, aren't you?  Counting the hours and waiting…"

A chill ran down James' spine, and he struggled to keep his expression blank.  _He's guessing.  He has to be guessing._  Still, he suddenly felt that he had reason to be very afraid.

"I'm waiting for a lot of things," he replied levelly.

"Of course you are."

Meeting those burning red eyes became more impossible every day.  One thing James had never been accused of was cowardice, but those who spoke of clinging to principles and courage no matter what the cost had never been faced with their best friend's death.  They had never had to live day in and day out, knowing that their best friend would pay for their mistakes, that their brotherwould suffer in their place.  James had rarely been an advocate of caution; he was much more prone to leading with his cheeky mouth than his smarter mind, but he had learned the hard way not to snap back at Voldemort.  The price simply wasn't worth paying.

"What are you getting at?" he asked cautiously.

"The question, James, is what _you _are getting at," came the response.  "What _you _are waiting for."

Something very cold and painful stabbed into his gut.  _He knows_.  James tried to push the thought away, but the fear stayed with him.  There was no way, but Voldemort _knew_.  Was he guessing?  It was possible… The Dark Lord wasn't stupid, after all.  He'd been trying to capture James for years.  It was entirely believable that he had decided that success had come too easily, and that there had to be a catch.  He shivered again, wanting to back away from Voldemort but unable to.  He already had his back to the wall.

"I do wonder," the Dark Lord continued.  "Why you wait.  Three words will save your friend, James.  Swear to serve me and you will save his life.  I give you my word on that."

"You enjoy making offers you know I can't take, don't you?" James demanded.  His nerves were strung to the breaking point now.  He couldn't bear to keep listening to how he could give in and save Sirius.

"Oh, no.  I enjoy making offers that I know you _will _take."

Before he could stop himself, he snorted, "Dream on."

Red eyes flashed, and he knew he'd gone too far.  Voldemort's quasi-pleasant voice hardened, yet remained very soft.  He almost had to strain to hear it.  "The question, James, is how long you will wait.  I warn you now that you have seen _nothing_ of what I can do.  What has happened to your friend has yet been a taste of what he will experience if you do not comply."

He'd heard those words before, nearly those very same words, but there was something about the voice that frightened James deeply.  He opened his mouth to respond, even though he was unsure what he was going to say, but the merciless voice continued.

"My patience, however, is limited.  Extremely limited.  So I will give you this one final chance to submit.  Do so, and you _will _save your friend.  Do not, and he will pay dearly."

For a moment, the heavy feeling of dread in James' chest would not let him reply.  Finally, though, he managed to speak around the horror. 

"You know I can—"

"Do not say _can't_, James," Voldemort cut him off.  "You will regret the word.  Accept now, or you will have to beg me later."

He felt sick, but at least that was one thing he could be sure of.  "I will never beg to join you," James replied coldly.

"You say that as if you mean it." Voldemort's voice had become almost pleasant again. "I could almost admire your courage if were it not so misplaced."

Slowly, the Dark Lord turned, and James could think of nothing to say.  All he could do was promise himself that Voldemort's threats would never have the time to come to pass.  _It's almost over_, he reminded himself desperately.  _A few hours, and then this _ends.  But nightfall could not come soon enough, and a part of him was still terrified of the consequences.  What he had seen done to Sirius outpaced any of the nightmares James had ever even _imagined_; he could not even begin to think of how Voldemort could make things worse.  But if there was one thing he had learned in Azkaban, it was that anything could get worse.

As the door slid open, Voldemort paused.  Then he glanced over his shoulder.  "How many hours is it, James?" he asked suddenly.

_No._

"Nine, isn't it?  Eleven o' clock and everything ends."

_Impossible._  He felt frozen to the spot.

"I am correct, am I not?"

_This can't be happening._ 

Voldemort smiled slowly.  "I have the Portkey, James.  And I have your wand."  His voice was unbelievably gentle.  "It is over."

-----------------

Somehow, he awoke in the Interrogation Chair again.  He hardly remembered going unconscious—had someone stunned him before he could notice?—but James could not miss the sudden coldness.  And he could not miss the frozen voice that spoke his name.

"Are you feeling sorry for yourself, James?" Voldemort asked as he opened his eyes.  "Are you beginning to feel that this has all been for nothing?"

The Dark Lord was leaning over him, so close that James could feel him breathing.  "I—"

"All that fighting…all that resistance…for _nothing_.  You have sentenced your friend to Hell, and to what end?" The red eyes burned into his own; James could not help shivering.  "From the beginning, my friend, I knew.  I have known your purpose since you came to Azkaban, full of righteous courage and self-confidence.  Until now, I have enjoyed playing your game."

"What?" he choked.

Voldemort smiled.  "You have been betrayed.  From the very beginning, you have been betrayed."

"That's impossible."  He stared as the other turned, moving casually away from him.  _No.  No.  No!  Anything but that—there are only so many people who _can _know, and none of them would… _James shivered again, feeling trapped, feeling utterly alone for the first time since he'd come to Azkaban.  He was alone.  _But none of them would…_

The Dark Lord's voice suddenly grew cold as he turned back to face James.  "Play time is over.  Now the test begins."

"The what—?"

Voldemort reached down and suddenly grabbed an unresisting Sirius by the hair.  James hadn't even noticed his friend's presence, but there he was, limp and nearly lifeless as the Dark Lord dragged him off of the floor.  Sirius only moaned, almost inaudibly, but the pain on his face didn't frighten James nearly as much as the cold feeling of dread that suddenly seized him did.  He had never seen Voldemort touch Sirius before.  Never.  Not once.  _This is bad.  This is going to be very bad_—

And there was no one in the room but them, no one other than James, Sirius, Voldemort, and the Dementors.  Instinct told James that the Dark Lord felt no need to show off for his followers, and that when they were alone, it was time to worry.  Sirius whimpered softly as Voldemort jerked up on his hair as if to prove a point.  His eyes were shut, and his expression was almost slack from exhaustion.

"It is time to find out exactly how much you are willing to sacrifice.  There is no way out now.  There is no light at the end of the tunnel.  There is nothing but you, and your choices, condemning your 'brother' to death."

He jerked again on Sirius' hair, but the skeletal prisoner hardly reacted.  Voldemort, however, seemed unsurprised.  Very precisely, he placed his wand against Sirius' throat.  "_Brevisalvum__ Mali_."

Sirius' body shuddered and James saw his eyes fly open as false energy ran through his body.  Agony flickered over his face, but with it came increased awareness that was out of place in his battered features.  Brevisalvum Mali was the Quick Heal Spell used by Aurors in the field when serious injuries simply had to be overlooked, when circumstances forced injured Aurors to fight.  But the miracle spell came with a high price; after an hour's ability to function normally, the subject felt far worse than they had at the beginning…and the pain never left.

"So tell me, James, what the end will be.  Tell me you'll let him die."

"James—"

"_Crucio__!"_  It seemed that Voldemort had expected Sirius to object, and James' friend screamed as the curse hit.  The Dark Lord's wand was tight against his throat for the first moment, but Sirius' body jerked with newfound strength, and Voldemort dropped him to the floor as he screamed, maintaining the curse.

A single gesture brought two Dementors forward, and they lifted Sirius' convulsing form between them.  James winced as his friend's screams grew louder, and as Sirius' face tightened with both real and remembered agony.  _His nightmares have to be almost worse than reality_, James thought brokenly.  Behind the screams, behind the pain, he could see Sirius trying to draw inside of himself, trying to shield a corner of his soul from the Dementors—but Voldemort kept him under the torture curse as the Dementors slammed him onto the table, letting him twitch and writhe and scream.

Slowly, the Dark Lord walked around to the head of the table until he stood right above Sirius' face.  One of the Dementors was holding Sirius' feet, the other his shoulders, yet his body almost jerked out of their grip as Voldemort's wand came down to rest, almost gently, against Sirius' right cheek.  Only then did the burning gaze seek out James once more.

"Do you remember that I told you that I gave your friend the _Anti-__Poenatoxicum_ because I wished to, James?" he asked coldly; somehow, his voice could still be heard over Sirius' screams.  "That I told you to remember that the relief was only _temporary_?"

_No._  Cold pain seized up in James' throat.  _He won't—_"Don't!"

"_Don't_ what?" the Dark Lord asked mockingly.  "I warned you.  And now he pays."

One long fingered hand beckoned a third Dementor forward.  For the first time, James saw the vial that Voldemort held in that very same hand; the other, of course, still held the wand against Sirius' face.  The screams were beginning to fade, even with the added strength the Quick Heal Spell gave Sirius.  He was more gasping than screaming, now, but his body was still trying futilely to jerk out of the Dementors' grip. 

"Hold his head."  There was no amusement in that voice now, only coldness.

"Please don't do this." The words tumbled out before James could stop them, and in truth, he would not have stopped even if he had thought to do so.  "He can't—"

"Oh, but he will," Voldemort cut him off sharply.  "Until you surrender."

Sirius wailed as the third Dementor took his head in its bony hands.  Voldemort's wand transferred to lie against his throat, and James suddenly realized that he was not going to remove the torture curse, either—

"No!"

The Dementor forced Sirius' mouth open even as James shouted in protest.  His friend's cry choked off, and James saw him shudder—he had to know what was coming.  Even through the pain, his face tightened, and James could tell that he was trying to brace himself…yet it did no good.  This time, the effect was almost immediate.  As soon as Voldemort poured the potion down Sirius' throat, his body went into sick convulsions, and less than thirty seconds later, he let out an agonized screech.

Long moments passed, and James could only watch his friend suffer through suddenly blurry vision.  His body was jerking crazily; had the Dementors not been holding him down, James knew he would have broken at least a bone or two in addition to the injuries he already had.  Between the _Poenatoxicum_and the Cruciatus Curse, Sirius' screams had progressed into wails of pain, yet James heard half-rational whispers filling the space between his cries.  _Nightmares_.  Sirius was living a nightmare.  Surrounded by Dementors and in so much pain, could he tell memory from reality?

Suddenly, Voldemort stepped away, lifting the curse.  Yet Sirius' tormented wails did not lessen; in fact, they grew worse as Sirius became lost in pain that would not stop.  Every breath became a sob, and James could see past and present merging as Sirius struggled for air through the pain, screaming all the while.  The Dementor at his head was slowly stroking his face, making Sirius flinch every time the cold fingers made contact—

"The last time he faced this hell, he was lucky."  Voldemort was standing only feet away from James, watching the Dementors savor Sirius' pain with a satisfied smirk.  "He spent that time with _you_.  This time, the company will be slightly…different."

"No…" He could not form coherent speech.

"Oh, yes.  And how long will you leave him under the potion, _Gryffindor_?  Until he dies, or until you give in?"

James' mouth opened, but no sound emerged.  He could only listen to Sirius' wails and sit there helplessly, knowing that he was the cause of it all.  Even as he watched, he could see his friend's control shattering…Sirius' head was jerking back and forth as he tried to irrationally escape the Dementors.  The three creatures were crowded close to the table, drinking in the screams and the pain.  The one at the head of the table cradled Sirius' face in its hands almost lovingly, continuing to run its gray fingers over his contorted features.  Then one of the others shifted slightly, also reaching out a hand to touch Sirius' face.

Tears began to pour down Sirius cheeks, and James saw him begin to fight in earnest, struggling pointlessly against the cold hands that held him.  He was lost in the pain, in the fear, teetering on the edge of insanity and terror.  His screams continued growing louder, no matter how weak he became; James knew that the Quick Heal Spell had given him temporary strength that would later only hurt him more, but was now the reason why he could react so noisily. 

James felt sick.  For a moment, he considered simply begging Voldemort to end this, but he pushed the thought aside.  Pride, however, did not cause him to do so; rather, it was the knowledge that even begging would do no good.  The Dark Lord had made that clear. Only one thing would stop Sirius' suffering…except for death, but James was not so defeated that he could _ever _hope for his best friend to die.  _Even if it would be a release—_Cold finality mixed with the nauseous feeling in his stomach.   _No.  Anything but that.  I won't let him die here after he's fought for so long._  Another thought, unbidden, drifted at the edge of his consciousness, but he ignored it.  _I'll find a way,_ James swore silently.  _I _will_ find a way._

But Sirius' shrieks continued.  There were two Dementors stroking his face, now, making him shudder and wail and mumble incoherently.  James saw his lips move between screams, but could not make out the words if there were any at all.  Sirius was simply lost, unable to do anything but react to the pain and the terror. 

"He's a loud one, isn't he?" Voldemort asked conversationally.  Something in his voice made James' head whip around.  "Almost enough to give me a headache." 

He was afraid to speak, but suddenly noticed that the Dark Lord now held something else in his left hand. 

A cold smile.  "Fortunately, there is a way to avoid that."  As James stared with wide eyes, Voldemort dangled the contraption in front of his face.  "Do you know what this is?"

The majority of the object seemed to be made of leather; there were two straps that could be connected by a buckle, but were not yet.  Joining the two straps, however, was a straight metal rod only a few inches long.  On second glance, however, the rod didn't seem to be very straight; it seemed somewhat bumpy—James squinted through his dirty glasses.  Those bumps were spikes, and another metal strip extended perpendicular from the center of the rod.  This one was vaguely rectangular, ad maybe two or three inches wide by three inches long.  It, too, had the same bumps—spikes.

_Oh, God._

"_Crucio__!_"  Sirius screeched even louder.  "Do you know, James?"

"No."  It took a hard moment to find his voice.  "I don't."

Voldemort withdrew the curse with a flick of his wand; James struggled not to stare at Sirius.  He had a feeling that the Dark Lord wanted his undivided attention, and he had no intention of letting Voldemort punish Sirius for his actions.  A moment later, he was proven correct:

"Medieval Muggles called it the brank.  Although we have improved its design since then, I enjoy the irony of its use—Muggles used to employ the brank to keep suspected witches or wizards from speaking the words to any spells."  The cold smile grew.  "It is, of course, rather less efficient than a simple Silencing Charm.  But the brank is _much _more painful."

He felt his jaw drop open.  "Please, don't—"

But the Dark Lord was not paying attention to him; Voldemort had turned his back, and was strolling over to the table.  Immediately, the Dementors moved aside for their Lord, leaving Sirius shuddering in relief even as he cried out in continued pain.  But James could tell that he was still too disoriented to resist as Voldemort swiftly strapped the brank in place.  A sharp jerk tightened it, and Sirius let out a muffled scream when the spikes dung into his mouth—and then wailed again from the pain the first scream had caused.

The Dementors closed in again as Sirius began thrashing in pain, and James heard the absolute heartbreak in his muffled wails.  Blood was pouring down Sirius' chin, mixing with the tears that ran down his cheeks, but the Dementors did not seem to care.  One grabbed his head immediately, and James winced as it again began to stroke Sirius' face, oblivious to the agony and terror that caused.  Within seconds, another crowded close to his friend's face, and James saw it lean down, drawing in Sirius' nightmares and pain.  There was nothing that Dementors thrived on more than heartbreak and loss; when they tore away happy memories and left horrors in their place, the foul creatures found their own hellish version of heaven.

Long moments ticked by, and all James could do was watch in horror.  All he could do was listen to Sirius' screams, knowing that his friend could not _stop _screaming, no matter how great the pain.  To his left, Voldemort was smiling again, for he knew the truth behind the brank—the Dark Lord would probably have called this the _beauty _of the device.  But the blood running down Sirius' chin was proof enough in itself; as he screamed, the pain increased, and as the pain increased, he screamed still more.

"I estimate that he has another fifteen minutes before he'll scream no more," Voldemort suddenly said.  "As you well know, the Quick Heal will have worn off by then, and will leave him in far worse condition than before."

Something salty crept in the corner of his mouth, and James realized that they were his own silent tears.  He cared not how long he'd been weeping; pride hardly mattered now.  He had nothing to hide, only a friend to watch.  A friend who would die.

"And yet you do nothing." He had not thought the cruel voice could be so gentle.  "You weep for your friend, yet you do nothing…when three words from you would end it all.  Submit to me and end the pain.  Let your friend be given the _Anti-__Poenatoxicum_ and let him suffer no more.

"Is it so difficult, James?"

There was nothing to be said that he had not said a dozen times before.  He could not, would not… Yet the temptation was there, lurking beneath the surface in ways that it had never done before.  Driving it away, James closed his eyes, feeling the tears wet his cheeks.  _He couldn't_…  A wand, suddenly, touched the bottom of his chin.

"No.  You _will _watch."

Sirius' screams were growing weaker; perhaps he was losing strength, despite the Quick Heal, or maybe in his condition the spell could not last nearly so long.  Either way, his body's frightful jerking was slowing, and his muffled shrieks were beginning to fade into weak moans. 

The horrible silence continued, but Sirius suffered on.  Eventually, he grew quiet, and James almost wished that Voldemort would say something, would _do _something—anything to lessen the horror of watching his best friend fade.  Within moments, the Quick Heal Spell's effects had dissipated, leaving Sirius still paler and quieter than he had been in the beginning.  Still, though, he moaned, barely twitching from the pain.  The limp exhaustion that James had seen earlier was intensified now; there were moments when he feared that his friend would stop breathing entirely. 

Yet it went on, and on, and he couldn't even think of something challenging enough to distract Voldemort from Sirius.  But even if he had, James knew that it would do no good—the Dementors remained with his friend, touching and holding, increasing his pain and undoubtedly highlighting every nightmare in his mind.  They stroked his bloody face as tears rolled down his cheeks, with their cold hands making him twitch and flinch.  Finally, though, Sirius ceased to react at all, and James watched him lay there, in silent pain.

"Think of him, James."  Voldemort's voice came softly, right in his ear.  "Think of him as you wait in the relative peace of your cell, and think on this: which will last longer, your resistance, or his life?"

-------------------


	9. Interlude

**Interlude**

Arabella Figg placed the newspaper down in front of her, frowning at the headline. **Head of Auror Division Captured by Death Eaters**. It irritated her that the papers had already found out about the failed raid—none of her Aurors were even out of debriefing yet. The Death Eaters must have been bragging about their success.

"Damn it all. Goddamn it all." For Arabella, the swear was mild. Her language was damn near legendary amongst the Aurors.

Through the years working at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Arabella had made it a point to know the name of every Auror. She knew some better than others, but every time something happened to one of them, it hurt. They were like her children. Losing James, letting him get captured, had hurt much more than most.

She had been his Mentor when he first joined the Auror division. She was friends with his wife, and had babysat his son on many occasions. If any Auror was like a child to her, it would be James Potter. It hadn't hurt this much in a very long time. _The Mulciber raid_, her mind whispered. _No_, she thought. _The Mulciber raid was a disaster, but losing Charlie Weasley had hurt more than even _that_ horrible failure_. Charlie had been young, and he had been exceptionally good at what he did. He could have been great if he hadn't been killed. Or, more accurately, he could have been greater.

He _had_ been great, before he'd died.

Arabella was startled out of her musings by the sound of her office door swinging open and shut again, nearly silently. She smiled sadly at her visitor as he took a seat across from her. "Humbug, 'Bella?" Albus Dumbledore, Minister of Magic asked.

Arabella stared. "Exactly, Albus."

She would have put it more colorfully, but humbug would do. He smiled gently, taking out a tin of peppermint humbugs and passing one to Arabella. He sat in silence across from her, waiting for her to talk. Cracking a small smile at the candy, she said:

"That's not what I thought you meant. I was thinking more along the lines of the 'damn' sort of humbug. But this will do, I suppose." Dumbledore sat silent as a statue, a compassionate statue to which one would tell anything, but a statue nonetheless. "I feel old, Albus. How could I let him do this? Voldemort will never let him survive."

"James is strong. He can last the week. The information he will bring back will be priceless. We just have to trust that everything will go according to plan." Somehow, Dumbledore didn't even seem disturbed, and seeing that hurt.

"And what if it doesn't?" she demanded angrily. "What if something happens and Voldemort kills James? What do I tell Lily if he dies?"

"We tell Lily the truth. She understands the risks her husband must take; she knows where he's going and why. She approved the idea, though I can't say that she liked it," Albus answered, making Arabella sigh heavily.

"It should have been me. I should never have let him go," she said in a hushed voice.

"We cannot regret the things that have already happened. We will never know what may have happened if you had gone in his place instead, and it is probably better that way," Albus replied. "Remus will have to inform James' son. You remember Harry."

"Yes, of course. How could I forget? I hear he's developed James' talent for mischief." Trying to sound so normal was going to kill her, and she was sure that Albus wasn't fooled. Still, she had to try. That was how the game was played.

"Indeed he has. That is part of the point. If he is not told carefully, he and his friends will work out the truth, which we cannot afford." Dumbledore stared pointedly.

"You want me to come," Arabella sighed.

"I want you to come."

Rising, Arabella said, "Let's get this done." With that, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement followed the Minister of Magic out the door.

-- o --

Harry groaned as a pillow hit him in the head. "Harry, wake up! We're going to miss breakfast!"

"Ugh. Just five more hours, Ron. Just five more hours."

"Isn't that supposed to be five more _minutes_?" Ron retrieved his pillow and threw it again.

"Only for those of us who don't know the value of a good sleep in. Go 'way." Harry fumbled for his glasses even as he protested getting up. Pulling on clean robes, he trailed after Ron toward the Great Hall for breakfast, thoughts of eggs already filling his head.

"Potter." Harry snapped out of his egg-filled reverie at the sound of Professor Fletcher's voice. Both boys stopped and looked at Fletcher, whose presence rarely heralded good tidings.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked warily. What could this be about? He couldn't be in trouble yet, he'd only just got up.

"Come with me. Weasley, go ahead to breakfast." There was pain in Fletcher's face, and Harry didn't know what to make of it. He knew that his professor sometimes had painful memories of his time with Voldemort, but what could be causing the expression on his face now was beyond Harry's comprehension. But that pained look told him not to argue.

"Ron, go on. I'll find you in Transfiguration. I'm sure Professor Fletcher won't let me be late for that." Ron looked from Harry to Fletcher and back again before nodding and continuing on his original path, looking back every few feet.

"Where are we going?" Harry followed Fletcher's quick pace, but there was no answer. Soon enough, though, he recognized the route. "Professor Lupin's office? Why? Whatever it was, I didn't do it, I swear."

Finally, Fletcher looked at Harry with distant eyes. "No one's accusing you of anything. Just… try to keep an optimistic mindset." With that, he gave the password to the gargoyle in front of the Headmaster's office. "Red Riding Hood." The great stone gargoyle moved aside to reveal a long spiral staircase.

"His password is Red Riding Hood?" Harry was amused.

"Yes, but not for long. Go up. Remember what I told you." Fletcher was obviously done talking. Harry stepped onto the steps, and they began to carry him up. His suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. Something ominous was in the air, and he could feel it.

"Come," came the response to his tentative knock at Headmaster Lupin's door. Harry opened the door and quietly stepped in. His eyes went wide when he not only saw Lupin, but also Arabella Figg, and (which seemed the most foreboding to Harry), his mother. Harry swallowed hard and stood by the remaining empty seat.

"Sit, Harry." Lily spoke up, and the same pain that Harry had seen in Professor Fletcher's face was etched deeply in his mother's. As he sat, his stomach started doing flips.

"What are you doing here, Mum?" He had an idea, but he didn't like it.

It was Professor Lupin who answered. "Harry, there's no easy way to say this, so I'm not going to shuffle around the truth." He paused, as if trying to figure out how to start.

"What? What is it? It's Dad, isn't it? That's why Mum and Mrs. Figg are here. Isn't it?"

"You're entirely too perceptive for your own good. Yes. It's your father." Harry's stomach stopped doing flips, and simply sank.

"He's not… he's not… not…" He couldn't even make himself say the words.

"No, he's not dea…"

Harry interrupted, "But he's hurt! You had to take him to St. Mungo's… Or… or…" Somehow, he felt that if he could come up with it on his own, it wouldn't be quite so bad.

Lily spoke again. "Hush. Let him tell you."

Remus looked to Arabella. She sent him a look back saying clearly, _I'm not telling him._ Even an eleven year old could read that expression.

Sighing, Remus started again. "He is hurt, but he's not in St. Mungo's. He's…" Remus' throat caught, "in Azkaban."

Harry didn't know that such a howl of denial and rage was possible, and didn't stop to wonder if the whole of the school had heard it when the impossible shriek escaped him.

Mrs. Figg finally spoke up, "He was taken late last night by Death Eaters. We don't know anything beyond that yet. He's alive, though. Voldemort wants him alive."

Harry sat in dumbfounded silence. "How could you let this happen?" was the first thing he could manage to say.

Mrs. Figg looked more pained than even his mother, though how that could be possible, Harry didn't know. "We aren't in the practice of _letting_ these things happen, but that does not mean they never do. We will do what we can for him, but…"

"But there's no hope." Harry was holding back tears.

"I never said that, Harry. I am in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and your father is very important to us. Nearly as important, I daresay, as he is to you. Not only that, he is my friend. I will do all I can to get him out."

"They got Professor Fletcher out."

Lily smiled sadly, "Yes, they did. That means it's not impossible."

"Not impossible." Harry repeated the phrase like a mantra, as tears blurred his vision. He didn't bother holding them back anymore.

-- o --

Returning to the dormitory after classes, Ron found Harry sitting on his bed with his knees drawn up.

"I didn't see you at Transfigurations." Harry only jumped in reply, obviously surprised by Ron's voice. He took a deep breath, and settled back into silence, picking at a thread on his robes.

"I saw the _Daily Prophet_." Still no reply.

"You want to talk about it, mate?" Harry finally looked at Ron, his face stained with what seemed to be hours of tears.

"No…" Harry whispered. "I don't want to admit it's true."

"I know. No one ever wants to talk about Charlie, either."

"You don't really remember Charlie. I grew up with Dad."

Ron sat on the bed with Harry. "I know. I'm just saying. If you need to talk or anything… I'm here. Hermione's worried, too. Fred, George, and Lee were going to play a prank to cheer you up, and Hermione nearly tore them to shreds. You should have been there. It was beautiful."

"Yeah." There was no strength in Harry's voice. No emotion. It was empty; it was flat. It scared Ron.

"I know, I know, I'm probably just making things worse. You want me to leave you alone?"

Harry stared right at him, even going so far as to make eye contact.

"You know what's worse? Azkaban. It's worse than anything. If they'd told me he was in the hospital, or dead or _something_, I could get over it. But Azkaban. Do you know what they _do_ to people there?"

"I wish I didn't." Ron was at a loss for words. He wanted to be there, to help somehow, but there just wasn't anything he knew how to do. So instead, he sat silently on the bed next to Harry, giving support by simply being there.

-- o --

The days passed one by one, and the Order of the Phoenix was growing uncomfortable. Those that did not know of Operation: ICEBREAKER were frightened that Voldemort could take someone such as James Potter. Those that did know were far more frightened.

They were the ones that knew that James had walked into hell in order to save them all. Each one thought internally, _"I should have gone instead."_

But there was nothing to be done for it now. Everyone was affected.

'Bella had snapped at Hestia Jones at least six times a day. While it wasn't entirely unusual for 'Bella to snap at people, Hestia noticed the marked increase, and asked 'Bella why she didn't just get it over with and swear at her already. Remus withdrew into his office at Hogwarts. Snape lashed out at the students more than usual. Dung simply walked around with haunted eyes. No one questioned, no one thought that it was anything other than the loss of a friend.

But they knew exactly into what they'd sent him. And there was nothing to do but wait.

The days passed, and the tension rose.

The days passed slowly, yet the week was over in a blur.

Seven days passed, and James did not return.

-- o --

Lily went straight to Arabella. She found the woman sitting at her desk, trying to look busy, but failing miserably as she held her head in her hands.

"Tell me he's dead."

Arabella looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"

"James. Tell me he's dead." Lily's eyes were frantic.

"I know you meant James, but why that?"

"Because if he's not dead… he's stuck there. The deadline is past. He should not still be there. And we sent him in. And he's my husband and I know that he'd rather be dead than in Azkaban. Any of us would. What did Voldemort do to him? What is he going to do to him? I don't even want to imagine; just tell me he's dead." The words just kept spilling out.

"He's not dead."

"How do you know?" Lily finally sank into a chair.

Arabella walked around her desk and put her hands on Lily's. "We'd know if he'd died. Voldemort would display the body."

Lily started to sob. "Just bring him back alive. I'll take care of the rest. Just bring him back alive."

"I don't know if we can, Lily."

"What will we do?"

Arabella squeezed Lily's hands. "We wait. That's all we can do. We wait."

"Wait? There must be something we can do. Must be."

"What do you suggest, Lily? Walking in there? We'd lose more that way, and we wouldn't get him. He'll be in the high security block. Voldemort has been after him for ten years. That's how we knew this would work. That's how we know he's alive. Voldemort wouldn't have it any other way."

"I just keep thinking… we lost Sirius like this. He thought he knew what he was getting into, too, and he's dead now. Hell, we lost Sirius to _prevent_ this! I just… don't want to lose James, too. Am I being selfish?"

"No, Lily. You're not being selfish. None of us wants to lose him. He's precious to us all." A knock came at the door. "Come in, Remus."

Remus walked in, and before he could question, Arabella said, "Recognized your footsteps."

With a nod, Remus looked at Lily and asked without preamble, "How's Lily?"

Lily looked up. "She's right here. You could ask her directly."

"That bad? You only get snippy like that to cover things up."

Sighing, Lily replied, "Why do you know me that well, Remus?"

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

Lily decided to let it drop, and moved onto her main grievance. "'Bella won't tell me that he's dead."

There was no need to ask what she was talking about, or why. Remus knew. "All our information points toward his being alive. I'm sorry. I know he wouldn't want to survive failure on this scale." Remus looked apologetic. Even hearing the word "failure" connected to the operation in which her husband's life hung in the balance nearly sent Lily over the edge of sanity.

Nearly. Composing herself enough to speak again, she managed to ask, "How did it happen, Remus? How did he miss the window?"

"I can't say. There are a hundred variables. We can only wait now."

Arabella piped in, "Told you, Lily. Isn't that what I said?"

"Yes, it is. I don't want to accept it." The tears flowed in silent rivers down Lily's cheeks.

"Lily, 'Bella, I came because I thought you should know that Severus has been unable to find any information on James. It's not exactly uplifting, but it's news. All he knows is that Voldemort is inordinately happy right now." Remus paused.

"What is it, Remus? You have to tell me." Lily's eyes plead for her. "He also said that while passing through Azkaban, he caught a few seconds of screaming. He says it's the like of which he's never heard."

Lily and Arabella simultaneously winced. Remus continued heavily, "We knew where we were sending him; we had no illusions that it wouldn't be hell." He stopped, looked from Arabella to Lily and back again. "I also came to confer with the two of you."

Arabella asked, "About what?"

"Do we tell Harry?"

Lily choked on a sob. "Tell him? He knows, doesn't he? We told him when he was taken…"

Remus laid a hand on Lily's shoulder. "He knows that he's there. He doesn't know that he walked in deliberately. He doesn't know about the wand and the Portkey. He doesn't know that somehow, the plan failed. He deserves to, don't you think?"

Lily looked Remus square in the eyes, and spoke as levelly as she could, even though every word made her feel dirty. She hated lying. "No. Don't tell him. Not yet. He'll hate us for keeping it from him, but let him hold onto the illusion that James went down fighting just a little bit longer."

"If that's the way you want it, Lily, that's the way we'll keep it, but I advise against it," Remus said quietly.

"The way I want it? The way I want it is that James miraculously appears safe and healthy and then I can tell Harry everything. The way it is? Reality never matches what we want. Not in this world.

"Reality is that my husband is being subjected to things that cause him to scream in such a manner that even Severus has never heard. Reality is that there's nothing I can do but sit and imagine what's being done to him, and realize that my imaginings, for once, probably aren't worse than reality, rather that they only scratch the surface."

Suddenly, Remus reached over and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"We all want him back, Lily. And we'll be there for you. In the meantime, we have to go on with life. It's what James would have wanted."

"Don't you dare, Remus Lupin. Don't you dare talk about him like he's already dead."

Arabella cut in. "Lily, no one's giving up on him. He's the strongest man I've ever seen. If anyone can survive, anyone at all, it's him."

Lily had no response, and even if she had thought of one, sobs overtook her ability to speak. Instead, she just cried on Remus' shoulder until she had no more tears left.

-------------------

Author's Note (sort of): This can't really be called an Author's note, seeing as how it's only from one of the authors (Robin), but I did want to apologize for the huge delay between PM1d7 and this "chapter." Real life struck, and it's especially hard when you have three authors who are in three separate states—one in school, one working, and one in the US Navy. Being the Navy one, I'm most responsible for the delay, and I do apologize. PM2d8 ought to be up soon, and look for PR30 in the near future.

Oh, and the nifty paragraph breaks are Sara's, even if they didn't turn out right. I certainly can't claim those. And yeah, I fixed the boo-boo. Thanks, Sara.


	10. Part Two: A Matter of Time: Day Eight

**Part Two: A Matter of Time  
Day Eight**

Day Eight. The eighth day. Deadlines missed, windows closed. The shit a lot deeper and long since acquainted with the fan. James made himself as small as he possibly could in the corner of his cell. He tried to draw in the very essence of everything that made him James into the deepest places he had. He gathered everything around him, the cold, the dark, the damp, drawing it in like a cloak. He shivered. If he could just delve a little deeper... just a little deeper... he'd be safe. Even James knew it was an empty hope, but he drew ever inward nonetheless. Azkaban couldn't touch him here. Except that it could.

The silence was unnerving. No matter what James did, he could not get the cold voice out of his head.

"_So tell me, James, what the end will be. Tell me you'll let him die." Sirius screamed in agony. "And how long will you leave him under the potion, _Gryffindor_? Until he dies, or until you give in?"_

James shook as the day melded together in his head. Everything had gone wrong.

"_You have been betrayed."_

The words echoed in his head.

"_You have been betrayed."_

"_Betrayed."_

Betrayed.

But who? Who had known he what he was doing? The eerie silence was starting to weigh in on his mind. He took the silence and pulled that into his shield as well.

James eyes flicked involuntarily at every little sound. A footstep. A shuffle. A distant voice. Silence. It was usually silent at this time of night. _Go to sleep, James, _he tried to tell himself. He knew it wasn't going to happen. Not this time.

"_You have been betrayed."_

Bellatrix suddenly didn't seem as important on the list of people James wanted to kill. There was a traitor to find when he got out of here. If he got out of here.

_I'm meant to be out of here already._

He tried to shrink farther back into the corner, but there wasn't a farther back to go.

_"And yet you do nothing. You weep for your friend, yet you do nothing... Which will last longer, your resistance, or his life?"_

_I have to get out of here._ The thought shocked right through him.

_I have to get out of here. I have to get help. I have to _do_ something._

How was he going to do it? Could he get Sirius out? He didn't even really know where Sirius _was_. No. Especially not with Sirius fading away under _Poenatoxicum._ He'd have to go alone. James' mind whirled. Could he even do it? No one had _ever_ done it.

The more important question was: could he afford not to try?

He'd have to pull a stunt that Voldemort had never in his life dreamed of.

_What do I know that he doesn't?_

He knew a lot of things. Many of them would make Voldemort's head spin. The Unicorn Group was researching wandless magic; Lily could even manage a little. That would certainly help. Unfortunately, James knew, what Lily could do wouldn't help him here. He'd always been entirely hopeless at it, which he inwardly found ironic since he hadn't had any trouble at all with the Animagus transformation in his fifth year, and that was wandless magic at its core. _Animagus._ _He doesn't know about my Animagus form._

No. It wasn't possible. Was it possible? What could he do? He could rush the door next time it opened. No. That would be incalculably foolish. The presence of the Dementors would cloud his mind, and the Lestranges would be there. No. He was too big to fit through the bars, so that was right out. _Oh, to be Peter right now. He was right. Being a rat _can_ be useful. _

He contemplated simply running head on into the door until it fell, but the thought itself gave him a headache, plus the sheer amount of noise it would make would get him caught before he even finished.

Crawling over to the door, James started to investigate the lock. It was a surprisingly simple lock. James suspected that the skeleton keys were made of actual bones. An odd idea popped into his head. Listening carefully to make sure that no one was coming, he made the transformation into a stag. Maneuvering his head so that his antlers were at just the right height, he slid the point of one of the prongs into the lock, and worked at getting it to turn.

The work was very slow. The lock was ancient, and did not want to give. The awkward angle made it more difficult for him to make fine twists and turns. After long minutes, and much to James' surprise, for he did not actually expect it to work, there was a click. Hope started to well up inside him where only moments before, there had been none.

_If I'd even started to think about what the hell it is I'm doing, I wouldn't even have gotten this far. Don't start thinking now, James. Don't start thinking now. Just go._

Transforming back so he could trade his hooves for his much quieter feet, he made his way down the corridor as quickly as humanly possible. Having only been in Azkaban for a week, he had no idea where he was going, he just ran. He'd been here before, before Voldemort took over, he tried to rely on his memory of where things were. _A right here... down the corridor... _that's where the Dementors always dragged him.

James stopped short at a door. He didn't remember a door here. He was always in a trance of Dementor-induced memory when he was at this stage of the journey. He tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. Heavy bars blocked off the whole section. He could see that it was an airlock style lockdown. He'd have to get through two doors to get out.

Cursing Voldemort for putting him in a high security cell, he set to work on getting the locks open with his antlers, praying that no one would hear. It took what felt like hours. James felt as though he could be seen by a thousand pairs of eyes as he stood maneuvering his head to delicately work the locking mechanisms in the doors. When the second lock clicked, he nearly collapsed from nerves.

_Turn left. You always turn left here. Just go. Go, go, go._

Running as quietly and as quickly as he could, he tried not to cringe as he passed the interrogation rooms, and resisted the urge to open every cellblock he passed. He knew his chances were best if he went alone. _Hell best if I'm alone. My chances are best if I get out of this damned corridor._

At the end of the hall, there was another double gate on the right. Sighing, knowing that this was likely going to be what was going to be the death of Sirius, his hand automatically strayed to the handle. James nearly jumped when it turned. _The Lestranges didn't lock it._ He didn't question. He didn't dare question. Darting through, he tried the second door. Open.

Heading for the first door he saw, James heart was pounding. Pulling the metal handle open, his nostrils protested at the stench that he was about to head into, but he plunged into the darkness nonetheless. There were stairs leading down. They creaked horribly, and he winced at the noise as he put his weight on the first one. Carefully keeping his back to the wall, James slid down one stair at a time, until he reached the bottom.

When he heard a snap, he looked down. He could barely see anything in the darkness, but he thought he could make out something pale on the floor. He felt around on the floor. Bones. Some still had flesh on them. This must be where bodies were dumped when prisoners died.

_How many good people are here? How many did I lose? _

As he stepped off the bottom step, he fell with a loud splash. Finding himself chest deep in sewage, he finally knew where the stench was coming from. Sewers. He was in the sewers. Hardly believing his luck, he felt the walls. The tunnel split into two to the left. Taking the single path to the right, James moved through the sludge as quickly as his feet would take him, alternating between man and stag. After ten minutes, light started to filter through the shadows.

_What's that they tell you? Head toward the light at the end of the tunnel?_

Cracking what he thought was his first smile since he first awoke in Azkaban, James picked up speed. The last few feet he tripped over his own feet, falling in the sewage. Pulling himself back up, he reached a grate. Through the grate, he could see the sea, the sky. There was a dock. The wind blew through. Icy though it was, it felt good on James' face.

James fitted his head through the grate experimentally, though he suspected he wouldn't fit. Pulling it back through, he tried an arm. Contort as he might, there was no way. Sighing, he pounded a fist on the bars. The outside was so close and yet, so far.

Refusing to be defeated so close to freedom, James tried to find a way to open the grate, but it was tightly sealed. It wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pulled, pushed, or shook it. Feeling his way around the edge of the grate, he found it. A lever. James' hand hesitated on the lever. _There's no way they're not going to know if I pull this. _

James pulled the lever, and watched in near slow motion as the grate opened. Bracing himself for alarms, to be dragged away, he waited. Nothing. Silence. James laughed. Climbing out into the air, he laughed. The wind rushed past him as his eyes darted over the docks. There were no boats, but he hadn't expected to be _that_ lucky.

Taking no time to think, James ran to the dock and plunged into the frigid water. The bitter cold was a shock to his system, but he started to swim as hard as he could away from the island, using the dock as a reference point for direction.

The North Sea's waters were unforgiving, but James pressed on. Stroke after stroke, he tried to gage how far he'd gone. He knew that the Shetlands were somewhere between twenty and twenty five miles away. How far?

As he swam on, his arms began to tire. James no longer felt the cold; his whole body had turned numb. Hardly able to feel his limbs, the pain didn't register right away. _Has it been ten miles yet? _Although the sun had not yet been up when he'd started swimming, it was high in the sky already.

Soon, the pain registered even through the numbness. Arms and legs burning from the effort, he pushed on. _Just a little farther. Has it been twenty miles? It has to have been twenty miles. _The sun was nearly setting. Why wasn't he there yet? Had the current taken him off course?

Every time he lifted his arm, kicked his leg, agony shot through his body. _One more stroke. You'll make it. Shetland Islands. Freedom. Sirius. One more. _The sun slipped below the horizon. James started slipping in and out of consciousness as the already glacial water became even colder. _Just... a little... farther... _

James sank into the blackness of the sea. _I didn't realise how warm the sea is..._ he thought as we went down. It was his last thought as the black seas melded into black unconsciousness.

--------------------------------------

When James woke up, every muscle felt as though it were on fire, which struck him as odd considering how cold he was. His robes were still sodden with seawater, but he was not, as he might have feared, at the bottom of the sea. _I made it. Someone must have pulled me ashore. Oh, I can hardly move a muscle. _

James opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light. He closed them again instantly. _No._ _It can't be. No, no, no, no. I should have been more specific when I said "someone."_ "Someone" had clearly been Voldemort. Bound into the Interrogation Chair, he was back in Azkaban.

"Welcome back, Potter. Have a good swim? We've missed you terribly." Speak of the devil. "Oh, it's no use pretending you're asleep. I'm very well aware of the fact that you're awake. Open your eyes."

James kept his eyes closed. "I _said_, open your eyes. You do not want to tempt my anger right now. You know who will pay for it if you do." James' eyes flew open, nearly of their own accord. "Better."

Voldemort was standing directly in front of him with Sirius bound in a battered heap at his feet. His eyes were glowing with a fury that was only barely contained. "I thought better of your intelligence, Potter. Not only are you stupid enough to try to do something so foolhardy as _escape_, you left _him_ with me, you set off the alarms, and you _swam the wrong way_. _Crucio._" Sirius writhed on the floor; too weak to scream even from the combined effects of more than an entire day's effects of _Poenatoxicum_ and Cruciatus simultaneously. Normally James would find relief in the fact that no fresh blood was flowing, but now, he only knew that it meant that Sirius hadn't had the strength to scream in some time, or the brank he still wore would have poured blood down his face in streams.

James bit his lip. Anything he said would only make it worse.

"Nothing to say for yourself, Potter? Been holding things back from me, have you, _Prongs_? Be a _deer_ and let me in on the little secret. How long _have_ you been an Animagus? Must have been one hell of a stag night with Lily." The breath caught in James' chest. This was not good. This was very not good.

"I..." James started to stammer out a reply, but there were no words. _Since when does Voldemort have a sense of humor?_

"_Crucio_." Voldemort cast the curse on Sirius again.

"So tell, me, Prongs," Voldemort said, almost conversationally, all the while not lifting the curse, "You're Prongs. A stag. Peter recently registered as a rat. He's called Wormtail. And Moony the werewolf, now that's self-evident. Tell me," Sirius writhed on the floor, "Why is he called Padfoot?"

"It's... it's just a nickname..." James started to say before Voldemort cut him off.

"Don't think me stupid, James. You want him dead, then please, stall a little longer. It's already clear that you do not think of him as the brother that you profess to, else you would not have left him behind in such a state that he's in while you made your dash for freedom, would you have? Why is he called Padfoot?"

"He..." James faltered again. Sirius stopped moving, save for the occasional twitch.

"Yes?"

"He's an Animagus... a dog." Voldemort lifted his wand.

"Interesting. In ten years, I never knew that. Yet, within one week, you betray him. Within eight days, you betray the secret that he kept for so long. It does explain some things I had been wondering about him. I thank you."

James had no answer. The silence stretched on for a long moment until the door opened.

"Ah, Jimmy's home. Welcome home, Jimmy." _Oh, not her, too. Not now._

"Bella. Do come in. Tell me. Did you know that your cousin has been an Animagus all these years?" James closed his eyes. _What have I done?_

"Oooh. Really? And what can he turn into? Such possibilities." She walked over to Sirius and bent over to brush the hair out of his face. Sirius didn't react at all.

"Why doesn't James here tell you? He was kind enough to tell me, after all. James? Tell Bellatrix."

Voldemort's voice had become almost pleasant, the anger subsiding. James knew that this couldn't be good. Angry, he might make mistakes. Clearheaded, James knew that he was in trouble.

"Well, Jimmy? What can dear cousin do? Come, come. Share."

_How many times must I do this? No more._ "I've already said."

"_Crucio_." Two voices performed the curse in unison. Sirius' back arched off the floor. Once he collapsed back down, he lay motionless. James could almost watch the life fade out of his friend's eyes.

"A dog. He can become a dog." _Stop it! You're killing him!_

Voldemort lifted his curse, but Bellatrix did not. "I knew there was something. I always knew there was something keeping him so _sane_. Tell me, _cousin_. Did you hide from the Dementors as a _mongrel_ all these years? Did you think it would save you in the end?" Sirius jerked once, lying still again.

"_Bella_."

Bellatrix raised her wand, staring daggers at Sirius before raising her gaze to James. James lifted his head as much as he was able. "He's been quite the stumper, hasn't he, Bellatrix? Haven't broken him in ten years, have you? Must be frustrating." The defiance in his voice barely came through, but it could still be heard.

A wave seemed to come off of Bellatrix, and Sirius found the strength to scream as the bones in his left leg spontaneously shattered. Blood started to flow down his face as spikes once again pierced through the insides of his mouth. Voldemort chuckled.

"Deliberately baiting Bella is not always the wisest of moves, James. But don't let me stand in your way." Turning around, he glided out of the room, Dementors close behind.

Bellatrix waited for the door to click shut before she turned on James. "It's just you, me, and him now," she said, kicking Sirius' leg, eliciting a soft moan. "Where shall we start? I don't have all that much time left; I can see you breaking before my eyes. I want to make this _count_."

The fire in her eyes was clear to James. It was the fire of a woman possessed, and that more than anything else frightened him. He tried to form words, but they caught in his throat.

"What was that, Jimmy? I didn't _hear_ you. Speak _louder_." She reached down and picked Sirius up by his bound arms.

"Leave him alone. It's me you want." The words were barely a whisper. James' mouth was suddenly very dry.

"You seem so certain that you know what makes me tick. It's you that Master wants. It's him that _I_ want." Bellatrix placed one hand flat on Sirius' back, and pulled firmly on his hands, searching for a place that had yet to be broken, smiling with satisfaction when she heard the sharp crack of snapping bones. James retched.

"Oh, Jimmy. Weak stomach? Can't bear it?" Wrenching Sirius' hands upwards one last time, she let him fall to the floor. "You know how to end it. But no. You're not ready. Almost. But not quite. I know what you're thinking."

"And what's that?" James forced the words out. "What am I thinking?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Bending over Sirius, she studied his face. "No slipping out on us, cousin." Bellatrix unhooked the blood soaked straps from the back of Sirius' head, releasing the brank from his mouth. The metal shone a dull red as she distastefully pulled it out from between his lips. Drawing a vial from her robes, she forced his jaw open and poured the contents down his throat. Sirius coughed and sputtered, but started to breathe regularly again.

"Can't let him go unconscious. He wouldn't wake up very well with that much _Poenatoxicum_ in him. So. Where were we?" Color started to return to Sirius' cheeks, and he started to moan. James took it as a good sign that he had the strength to do so.

"You were about to display your mighty talents as a mind reader." His ability for sarcasm seemed tied to Sirius' health.

Bellatrix walked forward and placed her hand on James' forehead. He suspected it was for show, but he shuddered nonetheless. "Ah, yes. You're thinking that I can break his body, but I cannot touch his spirit. I can't touch his soul." The blood drained from his face. What was she talking about? Certainly she wouldn't bring it up unless she thought she had some way...

Reaching into her sleeve and producing the wand tucked there, Bellatrix watched gleefully as it took James a moment to notice that something was different, that something was exceptionally wrong.

"But..." There were no words.

"But, nothing. I have had this for ten years. Ten years, Jimmy. Waiting for the right time. And you don't have it in you to stop me." It was not her wand. It was Sirius' wand. James had assumed that it was long destroyed. He understood all too well what was happening.

James cringed at the thought of what Bellatrix held in her hand. Remus had once had a wand snapped in battle... he'd described the sheer pain of it, and _that_ had been a clean break. Wands bonded with their wizard forever; time would not dim that bond. The bond reached into the very soul. Fear started to coarse through James as Bellatrix drew out her jeweled athame.

"No... you can't..."

"Can't I?" She ran her finger against the blade of the athame. "The blade is certainly sharp enough. I have the wand. And neither of you are in a position to stop me. Well, that's not strictly true. You could stop me. But you won't. I'm willing to bet his soul on it. Are you?"

James bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. _How much longer can I do this? How much longer can I condemn him?_ Bellatrix settled herself on the floor next to Sirius, neatly arranging her robes around her. Tracing along his hairline with the tip of the athame, she giggled softly as a thin line of blood welled up. "I want to savor this, cousin. I've waited so long."

"Go... to... hell..." Sirius rasped at her. James was impressed that he could form words through the blood that was still streaming from a dozen wounds inside his mouth, and he held onto that hope that Sirius could last just a little longer, though he knew it wasn't enough.

"Oh, no no, dear cousin. I'm going to send you there." It was apparent that she had cared for his wand well; it had a polished sheen to it. James watched in horror as she began to shave slivers of ebony off the wand. Sirius began to convulse. The shred of hope slid away as quickly as it had come.

"Hurts, doesn't it? That's the outer layer you're feeling. That's _nothing_. Just wait. And you wonder why the Ministry snaps them cleanly down the middle. They think they're being _humane._ Have you ever seen someone get his wand snapped? My first one was snapped. They have to hold you down when they do it. They cast silencing charms so no one knows that you're screaming." More shards of wood fell away from her knife. The wand was getting thinner and thinner. Convulsions turned into writhing as Sirius' breathing became ragged once again. He moaned softly but consistently.

A reddish glow started to shine through black wood like an ember struggling to stay alight in a fire long extinguished. "Ah, there it is. The core. Do you know what tradition mandates when I finish, cousin? You are required to thank me. I stood there in the courtroom with each arm braced by a Dementor, and that swine Crouch quietly took off the silencing charms after snapping my wand. And I had to thank him. I will accept no less from you." As the glow of the phoenix feather inside grew brighter and brighter, Bellatrix slowed her carving. Sirius began to scream in earnest.

"And here we thought you didn't have the strength to scream." Bellatrix started to giggle insanely. A paper-thin layer of wood surrounded the glowing feather on all sides.

Slowly, carefully, deliberately, the knife drew the final lines into the ebony. Fluffy tufts of feather started to show through the cracks that were forming. Sirius' face contorted in sheer torment as if his very soul were being sliced open instead of the wood. The strength was coming from somewhere, James was horrified with himself for praying that he'd never know for himself where, to cry out ever louder. Moments before, he'd been unable to muster the strength to moan.

Soon, Bellatrix was able to pluck the feather from the remaining splinters. Tearing it apart piece by piece, like a small child pulling the legs off a spider, her eyes were alight with pleasure. When all was done, she carefully gathered all the pieces of the wand, and dropped them in a vial of liquid. The vial started to glow a bright red as the splinters and feather fragments dissolved.

"Do you have any idea what this will do to you if you drink it?" Sirius could hardly see; tears were streaming down his face. "Thank me for destroying your wand, and you will not have to find out."

"No..."

"Be wise for once in your life, cousin. Follow wizarding traditions. Two little words. Save yourself the pain."

"No."

"Suit yourself." She lowered the vial to his lips.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Bellatrix's hand paused.

Through the haze of pain in Sirius' voice and his mangled tongue, even James could make out the words, "Thank you. Tradition demanded... thank you..."

"No! Sirius, no!" James struggled against his bonds. Bellatrix had done the one thing she'd known that Sirius would have to give in on. Pureblood wizards had a certain inborn knowledge of tradition in their blood. No matter how much a wizard might defy them while strong, weaken him enough, and he'll always revert to what he knows instinctually.

Bellatrix looked up with a smirk. Stoppering the vial, she slid it into her robes. "Do you know what this would have done to him, Jimmy?"

James looked at her, the shock still on his face.

"Nothing. The damage was already done."

Bellatrix stood up, brushing herself off. "If I didn't mention, welcome home. We really _did_ miss you..."

As she left the room, Dementors glided in to take James back to his cell.


	11. Day Nine

**Day Nine**

For what felt like the thousandth time, James pulled at the restraints holding his hands behind his back. When he'd been dumped on the floor in the cell the night before, he'd looked up to see Rabastan Lestrange bending over him.

"_Since I already went to the trouble of dragging your wet hide back, I thought I'd bring you a welcome home gift." Before James had the chance to react, Rabastan had flipped him over and snapped the shackles on._

"_We're family here, James. Family doesn't let beloved members run out and drown themselves, you know. It was quite the flight following you out. You're a good swimmer. I thought you'd lose it long before you did. Thought you'd at least hesitate before jumping in the water."_

"_You... saw me from the time I left the grate..."_

"_Since long before that. Thought I'd let you have a nice swim. But just the once, James. Sleep well. And pray that Sirius doesn't. From what I heard Bella was doing, if he goes under now, his soul is on the line." He paused to smile. "Sweet dreams."_

The shackles were certainly effective; there was no comfortable position that James could find. But most noticeably, he could not transform. He'd spent the first several hours of the night desperately struggling against the restraints, thinking only of getting to Sirius' side. His wrists were bloody from the effort, but the shackles held fast.

He could hardly think of himself after what he'd seen Sirius endure. James had seen men driven to suicide from having a wand broken in the heat of battle. James closed his eyes and tugged at the restraints again, unsurprised when they once again did not give.

Of course, not every broken wand had such effects on its wizard. Nevertheless, one destroyed in violence... it was disastrous. James shuddered to think what the effects of a slow and sadistic destruction would be. Worse than terrible, he was certain. He tried not to think about it, but that proved to be utterly impossible.

How much longer? His mind turned over and over. Human activity meant morning meant another day meant where were they? Why would they leave him? Why weren't they coming for him? James held onto the hope that the inaction meant that all was relatively well. Surely, they'd delight in telling him if it wasn't, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they?

He tried to flip himself over, mostly for something to do, to quiet his mind down. Every muscle was still leaden from the day before, and the effort it took to do so was enormous. Even the sudden mental image of himself flopping around like a fish after it had been plucked out of the sea could not make him smile. Somehow, he suspected that the smile he had felt during his few moments of freedom was the last one he'd smile for a long time. If ever. _Simple treasure that no one thinks of, that._

James landed hard on his other side. The spot he'd been occupying all night was dark with salt water. His robes, especially the side that had been underneath, had not dried. Shivering, he tried to coax his stiff muscles into curling up ever tighter as the wetter half of his robes settled on top of him.

Where were they? James had thought he couldn't get colder, but his teeth started to chatter as new waves of ice started to seep through his skin. When would they come? He pulled in tighter, wincing as he did so. Why had they not come yet? Salt water dripped off his hair into his eyes. Was Sirius even alive? James cursed himself for the mistake of moving. Why was he even thinking about any of this? He had other things to concentrate on.

Where were they?

More than anything, the waiting was killing him. Sirius needed a friendly presence. At this point, James didn't know whether Sirius would even know if he was there. But he had to be there. Especially now, when every hour, every minute, every second could be fatal. Footsteps passed outside. And yet they did not come. The minutes dragged by like hours. Footsteps passed again. And yet they did not come.

James didn't know how long it took him to cry out with frustration. But he was shocked when the passing footsteps stopped, and changed direction at it.

"James is awake, look at that." The door opened loudly. Rodolphus came in with Rabastan behind him. "We were wondering when you'd wake up. Master decided that you needed your rest this morning. Did you enjoy your morning to sleep in?" James looked up, incredulous.

"No answer? For shame. He treats his servants well; you should appreciate it."

Through clenched teeth, James finally spoke. "I am not his servant."

"Of course you are. You just haven't admitted it yet. Up you go. Rabastan, a hand if you would?" The brothers lifted him with surprising gentleness. James was extremely disconcerted at the tender touch; he eyed the pair suspiciously. "Besides. An hour here or there doesn't make a difference. They've been at it all night. They'll be at it all morning and probably into the afternoon. You'll have plenty of time to watch. You should find this interesting. Most people don't get a chance to see this close up. And if you're well rested, you'll be able to better appreciate it."

James had a horrible feeling that he knew who _they_ were. He noticed the conspicuous absence of Dementors. Perhaps that was why the Lestranges were being so... _sociable._ But James doubted it. He was wary of the sudden change, and he was frightened by it.

Rabastan laughed. It was the same warm and hearty laugh that James remembered from the week before. He had privately hoped that he'd imagined that laugh. "Come, James. We have places to go, people to see." Leaving the shackles in place, he took James by the upper arm, leading him down the corridor to the Interrogation Room. This was the first time James could remember the trip clearly. He knew where it was by now, from his mad dash, but this was his first calm walk there. He would have laughed if he were capable.

Rodolphus opened the door, and James' stomach dropped out. He hadn't seriously imagined that there were only three Dementors in all of Azkaban prison, but truth of the matter was that he hadn't put a lot of thought into the subject, really. In a tight mass in the dead center of the room were what looked like a hundred Dementors. In the middle of the pack of robes and hoods, on a table, was Sirius. Weak though he was, his strength to scream was not diminishing with time.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Rabastan whispered in his ear. "They don't get a chance like this often. In fact, I don't think they've ever had it _this_ good." James thought that if he weren't restrained in shackles, he would have tried to hit the man. As it was, he stood still.

The swarm rippled and undulated so that those on the outside moved to have its turn on the inside, and so on the procession went again and again. A white haze was lifting off Sirius, and the centermost Dementors were inhaling it with almost orgasmic ecstasy. James wanted to turn away, as if the mere action of closing his eyes would make it stop happening, but he was transfixed.

Only once the shock started to pass did James notice that the wave of cold had not hit him. The Dementors were ignoring him completely in favor of their delicacy. Disturbing though it was to look at, every Dementor was clear as day. James had never seen them look like that before. The cloaks were in precise detail, the skeleton hands in crisp sharpness. James thought he could even make out faces under the heavy hoods. Somehow, he wasn't sure which was worse: Dementors attacking him, or Dementors ignoring him. The sheer clarity of vision with which he could see their tall forms possibly frightened him more than the memories they brought.

Bellatrix was already in the room. "Jimmy! You're awake!" She beckoned to Rabastan and Rodolphus to bring James over to where she was perched on another table. James winced. Somehow, he could stomach the brothers, and he thought he could even wrap his mind around Dementors that were clear as day, but not _her._ How was he supposed to deal with what was happening to his best friend if _she _was here? He sighed internally as he was pushed along.

"There's a better view up here. Sit him up here with me, would you?" _She _would_ pick the spot with the best view, wouldn't she? _James bit his lip not to make a snide remark as he was bodily lifted onto the table. He knew that no good would come of it.

"Been a while since we watched the show together, Jimmy. I've missed this." She didn't tear her eyes away from the spectacle. "Just look at that. Usually you only get a thin mist, but they'll have a feast today."

James remained silent. His feet didn't quite reach the floor, and his legs swung unconsciously, despite his best efforts to stop them. It somehow seemed wrong to him that he should be sitting on a table with his legs swinging while Sirius was screaming his soul out. No matter how still he tried to keep them, still they swung. Looking down, he saw that Bellatrix was swinging hers as well. He sighed.

"Oh, don't sigh like that. Cheer up! Look on the bright side." She nudged him lightly on the shoulder and laughed. "He's alive, isn't he? It's not like we left him alone all night."

James finally turned to look at Bellatrix. "No, you just tortured him without break. Should I be grateful?" He was exhausted, and he sounded it, but there was a bitter edge on his voice.

"Yes," she replied simply. "Besides. Once they caught scent of him, they came from all over the island. That one over there," Bellatrix pointed to one of the Dementors, James couldn't tell which one, "actually came from off island. Couldn't pull them away if I wanted to. This is their due. They serve, and thus they are served. It's a cycle. You see?"

James unfortunately could see. It sickened him. Bellatrix continued. "Useful, actually. Gives us a heads up when someone gets seriously suicidal. Don't usually get a response like this, of course." She smiled to herself.

James tried to shift discreetly away. Inching along, he tried not to let his legs swing too much. He winced and felt the blood rush out of his cheeks as his feet made contact with Bellatrix's legs.

Bellatrix's reaction was lightning fast. Her hand snaked out, catching James by the wrists. "Trying to get away, are we?" She had yet to turn to face him.

"Of course not. Where would I go?" The pressure on his arms was starting to become painful.

"Then you kicked me deliberately?" Amusement was creeping into Bellatrix's voice. James froze like a deer in bright lights.

Sliding her hand under James' arms and up his back, Bellatrix pushed him off the table as she stood up. Leading him along, she walked to the edge of the mass of Dementors and pressed the both of them into the edge of the throng.

"You want a place to go? I have a place to go." Even if they hadn't been aiming for it, the Dementors were sweeping them forward, swirling inward. It was too late to try to get out now. James' ears started to ring and echo with Sirius' screams as they were drawn closer.

Bellatrix caught hold of the table as they reached the centre so the pair would not be swept outside again. "Look!" She steadied herself, let go of the table, and swept a hand through the white mist rising off Sirius, causing it to ripple. The reaction of the Dementors was immediate. Whichever way she directed the mist, the swarm shifted in that direction. Laughing at her game, Bellatrix let her hand fall, catching hold of the table again.

Even here, the Dementors ignored James completely. He had never seen a Dementor up close before with such clarity. His stomach turned continually. He tried to bend over Sirius, to try to let his friend know that he was there, at the very least, but Bellatrix would not let him; the hand on his back held him firmly upright.

"You're only a spectator here, James. Me, they're used to. You, you're just food. It is only through my influence that you can get so close. You don't want them to notice you, do you?" All amusement fell from her voice as she spoke. It was a genuine warning. A shiver ran up James' spine at how deadly serious her whisper was.

Standing as still as he knew how, James felt as though he were dying a little at a time as he stood over Sirius' screaming form, able to do nothing. "Can I talk to him? Will he hear me? Will they notice?"

"They won't notice, but he won't hear you." It was disconcerting to hear Bellatrix sound so gentle.

James tried nonetheless. "Sirius, I'm here. It's me. James. I'm here for you." The shrieks did not subside, nor did Sirius make any indication that he knew James was there. James persisted.

"I know you can't hear me, but I'm here for you." His vision blurred, and at first he thought that the Dementors had taken notice of him until the tears spilled over. "Take me out of here, Bellatrix."

"What's the magic word, Jimmy?" The playful mockery had returned to her voice. He felt her hand reach farther up his back and felt delicate fingers curl in his wet hair. James closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. _Not now. Gods. Any time but now. _

"Please."

"Not the one I was looking for."

James became frantic. Not what she was looking for? What did she want? He could barely think. This was neither the time nor the place for games. "What do you want me to say?"

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed. "Beg me."

With a feeling like he was already selling his soul, James whispered, "I beg you." The words were hardly audible. He was too exhausted to fight, and the playing field was too dangerous.

"It's a start." Bellatrix giggled as she maneuvered the two of them into the swirling tide that carried them out of the mass of Dementors. James hardly registered anything anymore. The whole world phased out around him as the words _I beg you _rang through his head over and over again.

Nothing existed. Only the three words that had torn open his very being, leaving him empty, leaving him _not whole_. Over and over, the words rang through his head.

_I beg you._

_I beg you._

_I beg you._

James was only grateful that he had not slipped far enough to speak a different set of three words, but it was little solace.

* * *

**Authors' Note: **The rudiments of this chapter (and please don't kill us upon finding this out) were written long before the PoA movie came out. We claim glee rights for predicting the white mist. In that light, however, we apologize for the slow rate at which we've updated this story. It was always meant to be a backburner project, but even we never anticipated it to be this slow. It's a difficult story to write, and some interesting things are in the immediate chapters ahead, which slows it down even more. However! Reviews do motivate us wonderfully. (Subtle? Us? Never.) 


	12. Day Ten

**Notes from the Authors:** Sorry for the delay. Well, about as sorry as usual. We usually try to be one chapter ahead, which we no longer are. The next chapter is still being written, so when it shall be posted, Lord only knows. We'll be sorry for the delay then, too.

**

* * *

**

**Day Ten**

James huddled in the darkness, trying to stay warm. He'd felt so cold since leaving the room with the Dementors, felt so alone and so _traitorous_. He had begged Bellatrix to let him leave, had given in and begged. For the first time in ten days—ten days that felt like forever—James had stopped fighting. But that wasn't the worst of what he had done.

He hadn't just begged Bellatrix to let him out of there. James had abandoned Sirius.

Swallowing back tears, James let his head drop onto his upraised knees. He would have wrapped his arms around himself if he could, but they were still shackled behind his back—and he really didn't care. He felt so damn cold, so horrible… _What kind of man abandons his best friend to a hundred Dementors? What kind of _friend _leaves a _brother _to suffer like that?_ His miserable tears spilled over again. _I left him. Begged her to let me go, and I _went. James shuddered. _Happily, too. _He'd never even thought about Sirius. Only about himself.

It felt so childish to cry, so weak. He'd spent years training himself how to fight against anything, spent a lifetime believing that he was strong. But one moment, not even an hour in length, had proved how wrong he had been. How very wrong. _I left him_.

The hot tears on his face were the only warm part of his body. _I left him._ _Again._ Ten years ago, James had abandoned his best friend to hell, and had consoled his conscience by saying that he hadn't known. But now he'd done it again, and he _did_ know. He had seen Sirius suffering, tortured before his eyes, and he had _left _him.

At the moment, James didn't know who he hated more. Voldemort, or himself.

He almost wished that the door would open. There was no way to keep track of time in Azkaban—yet another battle he had stopped fighting—so James had no idea how many hours had passed since Bellatrix had led him back to his cell, but surely it had to be long enough. It had to be. Soon, they would come, and they would bring him back and make him watch Sirius hurt more, but at least then he could be there for his friend. At least he would know, couldn't run away…

James bit his lip, and tasted dried blood. Waiting in silence was even worse than listening to Sirius scream, because all he could hear was his own jumbled thoughts, his own fears and weaknesses. For days, James had tried to think of ways out, ways to escape…but he'd tried his best and only option, and he had failed. _Again_. He couldn't think of any other way to escape, and that was the only way to save Sirius.

_Except…_

No.

With an effort, he forced the tears back. He wasn't beaten, and he was not about to start acting like he was. There had to be a way, and he would find it. He would.

_Death_, a traitorous voice in his head pointed out, startling him. _If Sirius dies, this will end_. James tensed, then swallowed hard, feeling like a monster for even thinking of it. But it had been preying on his mind more and more lately, every time he watched his best friend fade and suffer… Sirius was so hurt, and had been for so long. He didn't _deserve _this, shouldn't have to go through that day after day after day. Death, to Sirius, would be merciful. It would give him peace, give him the freedom that James could not provide.

It was awful to think that his best friend would be better off dead, but it was true… And James had almost convinced himself of that until he thought of Sirius.

_Sirius._ Fighting every step of the way, no matter what they did—he had lived for _ten years_ in that hell, and James would abandon him after ten days.

It had been ten days, hadn't it?

He was no longer sure. All he knew was that he had almost betrayed Sirius. Again.

Had there been any food in his stomach, James would undoubtedly have thrown up. He'd been doing that a lot lately, maybe because he didn't want to feel human. Didn't want to live, either. But that wasn't his choice to make—fortunately. Every choice he'd made in the past ten days had turned out to be the wrong one. _Just like asking Sirius to be the Secret Keeper. For someone who is supposed to be so smart, I am a fool_._ A pathetic fool._ It all came back to the same thing. It was his fault.

He shivered again, and wanted to scream out loud. But it wouldn't help, and he knew it, and he sure as hell wouldn't give Voldemort that pleasure. A part of him still cared about that. Mostly. Even when he had nothing more, he still had his pride, and that (if nothing else) would not let him admit defeat. He might grieve, but he would not give in.

The only problem was that as the days, the moments, ticked past, it grew harder and harder to believe that lie.

And there was nothing to do but weep, so weep James did. He lowered his head and sobbed like a child, wishing futilely that things might have been different, that he'd done something else, chosen someone different…someone who would have had the good sense to die instead of suffer for ten years. The words rang hollowly in his own mind. Ten years. Ten days.

Ten years.

By the time the door opened, James had no tears left to cry.

By the time he realized who the door admitted, he wished that he did.

It was Bellatrix, of course, but not her usual laughing self. Instead, she was somber, quiet, reserved even—and almost dignified. She lifted him without a word, dragging James to his feet by his bound arms and making him suck in a gasp of pain. A shove propelled him forward, and James had no choice but to walk in front of her, else end up face down on the dirty floor. Fighting, he had learned the hard way, was of no use. _You have to choose your battles. _He shuddered involuntarily as Sirius' words came back to him as his own thoughts.

James stumbled out of the cell in front of Bellatrix, forcing his wooden limbs to function. He was numb after so long of not moving, and it almost felt like someone else's body walking, someone else's legs obeying. He was distant from it, detached…and simply going. A part of him no longer even cared where they were headed, and his imagination did not dare contemplate what would come next.

One rebellious corner of his mind wanted to scream, _When will this stop? When will they run _out _of things to do? _Ten days ago, he would have said the words. Now, he simply thought them and shuffled along.

Twist. Turn. Around one corner and back again—James easily lost his way this time, despite the fact that he'd rushed through these same corridors only days before on his way towards escape. But now he was lost. In more ways than one.

Dark corridors, light corridors, they were all the same. In and out of high security gates, absent-mindedly realizing that he should take notice of how Bellatrix was making each one open but unable to care.His mind was so fuzzy; James felt like he was watching someone else wander aimlessly through Azkaban, guided by their worst enemy—_Yes, she is now. I think I hate her more than I hate Voldemort, even if he does hold her leash. _He stumbled a few times, causing Bellatrix to catch him by his bound arms. She was far from gentle, wrenching his shoulders around and almost pulling them out of joint, but James hardly felt the pain. One foot fell in front of the other in an uneven rhythm, and he walked.

Sooner or later, they reached their destination. It could have been either for all he cared, and James did not even recognize the cell next to his own until he was let inside. Immediately, he braced himself against the horrors he was sure to face…but there was nothing. _Nothing?_ Sirius' cell was empty, save for the stained floor and the stench of rotten blood.

Too late, he twisted to look at Bellatrix, but she was gone. And so was Sirius, though James soon realized that he was not recently gone; he hadn't been there for a long while.

James knew what that meant.

Somehow, he ended up in the corner with his knees drawn up against his chest, wondering where this would end. He shivered every now and again, more from memory than from the presence of Dementors. If they were nearby, he did not notice, could not notice; they were the least of his concerns. It seemed that even his concerns were the least of his concerns. There was simply nothing but the emptiness, the waiting. Seconds ticked by. Minutes, hours, days, James didn't know.

Time ticked by.

Time ticked slowly by.

His head came up when she seemed to float back into the cell; it took James a rather uncomfortable moment to realize that something _was _floating behind her. Someone.

He cringed upon seeing Sirius' limp form, and could not help but memorize every line of it…again. The shaking, the harsh breathing, the way every broken bone showed through broken skin—he had seen them all before, but somehow they had never hurt so much, seemed so awful. James could see blood trickling out of the side of Sirius' mouth, could hear the whimper hidden within each wheeze for air. He could see Sirius' half-open eyes struggling to focus on something, anything, through the pain, could see his friend's lips fluttering ever so slightly…and a Dementor's hand hovering just over his face. James shivered, but somehow remained glued to the floor. To his corner.

The door slid shut with a click, and the Dementors were gone. Yet all he could do was stare sickly at a man he could no longer recognize as someone he once knew. He was too numb, James knew. Too distant. _Why do I not care? _Heartbreak. Too long, too much. All James wanted to do was sit in the corner and hide.

"Aren't you going to rise to greet your friend, James?" Bellatrix asked quietly. Her blue eyes focused uncannily on James, frighteningly _sane _for the first time that he could remember. She almost seemed human for a moment, so like Sirius had once been… But then she giggled, breaking the surreal spell.

It wasn't right. But then again, none of this was.

She let Sirius hit the ground with a thump, a sickening squish that James was sure Bella did not care about hearing. But he did, and somehow it registered through the emptiness. Sirius coughed upon landing, then let out a high-pitched whimper of agony as the brank bit into his tongue.

"Oh, dear." Bellatrix glanced downwards dismissively. "You didn't like that, did you?"

Without warning, she reached down and scooped up two ropes that James had not noticed before. One was attached to either side of the brank, and Bellatrix grinned slyly as she gripped one in each hand. Sirius screamed weakly as she pulled first one and then the other, back and forth, back and forth, spraying blood all over the hem of her expensive robes. James lumbered to his feet almost before he realized that he was in motion, hoping that it might satisfy her, make her stop, or at the very least distract the witch…but Bellatrix kept sawing, laughing merrily. She paused only to swing her arm back, sending James hurtling back to the floor, but otherwise not acknowledging his presence at all.

"Poor cousin," she said mockingly. "Hurts, doesn't it?" Sirius' screams faded after the first few seconds, trailing off into coughing spasms as his body convulsed on the floor.

Then, in a desperate show of strength, Sirius' head started to come up, and James could see him trying to decrease the pressure, trying to lessen the pain. For a moment, it seemed to work; right up until Bellatrix noticed and slammed a booted foot right down on his face.

"Oh, no you don't!" Her face split into a savage smile, her eyes glittering and dancing with unbridled delight.

Sirius sputtered and screamed until it cut off into a cough. His body jerked in response to the sudden pressure on the brank, lifting up off of the concrete floor and slamming back down again with enough force to break bones—James heard something _crack _but could not tell what, and Sirius seemed to lack the strength to scream again. Suddenly, James realized why.

"He can't breathe!" he shouted at Bellatrix desperately, making her twist to look at him.

"He can't, can't he?"

Her heel ground down into Sirius' jaw once, then withdrew, kicking Sirius' face once for good measure. Blood spurted out of his nose and painted a strange shape on the far wall.

Long moments passed before Sirius managed to suck in a pained gasp of air, but Bellatrix kept sawing at the brank. Overcome, Sirius started to choke, but sharp whimpers were interspaced between his struggles. Just once, his head started to inch upwards again, but Bellatrix planted her foot on his sternum and shoved him back down. Finally he lay still, trying to breathe and whimper at the same time.

She kept at it until one tear, and then two, slipped down Sirius' face. James opened his mouth to speak, but no sounds came out. Sirius was just trying to breathe.

Finally, Bellatrix stopped and turned to smile at James. But he could only stare at his friend as Sirius lay limply, exhausted. The lower half of his face was covered in fresh blood, and every time he coughed more came out of his torn mouth.

"Do you think he's had enough, Jimmy? Do you think he wants a chance to rest?"

James could not answer. He could form no words through the sick feeling in his gut. He wanted to nod his head, to shake his head, anything, but he couldn't make it move. He could only stare at Sirius, incorporating the newest wounds and injuries into his mental picture of his friend.

His friend. He was letting this happen to his friend. His friend who had endured this expressly for him.

"No answer? For shame. You're not breaking on me, are you? I'd hate for that to happen. I'd lose my favorite toy, wouldn't I?"

James again tried to form words, but his voice wouldn't work. He tried to force the air past his vocal chords, but they wouldn't obey him. All he could do was watch with growing horror as Bellatrix rolled Sirius to his side and unbound his arms, knowing that the small measure of freedom would come at a terrible price.

Sirius tried to protest, but Bellatrix wrenched his leaden arms out from behind him, causing his entire body to shudder with the pain. James heard broken shoulders squeak, then crunch, and Sirius let out a strangled gasp. Slowly, enjoying every moment, Bellatrix pushed Sirius flat again, pulling his misshapen arms to his sides. Sirius' body jerked hard, but Bellatrix held his wrists down against the floor, making him whimper again. He tried to convulse as she studied him curiously, and then a grin split Bellatrix's face.

Without warning, she dropped down onto his chest, straddling Sirius with a knee on each arm. The sudden impact made Sirius choke again, and James knew that he was trying to scream in pain as weight landed on his battered ribcage but was unable to find the air to do so. Sirius was fighting to breathe, gasping and struggling, and managed to wheeze in a breath every few seconds…but it was not enough. She giggled.

"Having problems, cousin?"

His only answer was strangled attempts to keep breathing, which made her smile grow. Slowly, and with her eyes never leaving Sirius' face, Bellatrix reached inside her robes to pull her wand out, making sure to let her arm drift over Sirius' face so that he could see her do so. She rocked forward slightly, leaning over his face and whispering, "Brace yourself, Sirius. It's time to try something new."

He tensed as her wand touched down next to his left eye, trailing downwards until it rested on his chin. She lifted it a few inches, and then brought it down—almost gently, but James heard the soft _crack_ when the wand landed. Sirius' body bucked off the floor in pain, and he tried to scream. A strangled cry emerged. The wand moved left an inch, and tapped again. Another crack.

Sirius tried to jerk his head away, but Bellatrix's wand moved one inch to the right of his chin, and there was another crack. Finally, he managed to screech in agony, and Bellatrix almost went flying when his body convulsed again. Laughing merrily, she simply dropped her weight harder onto his chest. Sirius choked out a whimper, just as Bellatrix's eyes found James.

"Hairline fractures, Jimmy," she explained helpfully. "Just enough to hurt, unless someone _touches_—" Bellatrix grabbed Sirius' jaw in her left hand and squeezed. Sirius screamed.

James swallowed hard, tried to find words to object. He felt hollow, and before he could speak, she released Sirius' jaw and continued, alternating sides and moving up his cheeks with each touch.

Tap. Crack. Tap. Crack. Tap—something seemed to snap within Sirius, and he tried to fight back, wrenching his head aside when she tried to bring the wand down once more. His sudden movement seemed to throw Bellatrix off balance again, and for a moment, James dared to hope she'd go tumbling off to one side or the other, but there was no such luck. She anchored herself back down by digging her knees into Sirius' broken elbows. He gasped in pain, and then screeched as Bellatrix grabbed the brank.

"Are you trying to run away from me, cousin?" she demanded. "Don't you appreciate the gentle touch of a woman?" The words were punctuated with a jerk on the brank, and Sirius cried out in muffled and pained protest.

Hauling his head upwards off of the floor, Bellatrix pushed on. Sirius was whimpering with every breath, flinching as the wand tapped down. He seemed unable to even cry out through the pain, but James could see the agony in his eyes as he stood helplessly by. Sirius was blinking rapidly—was he holding _tears _back? James felt his eyes widen, and he stumbled to his feet again, not daring to move any closer but needing to see.

Bellatrix was three quarters of the way up Sirius' cheeks when the wand came down a little differently than it had before. _Crack!_ Sirius wailed in pain.

Switch sides. Again. _Crack!_ Tears flooded down Sirius face as he screamed, and Bellatrix laughed. A careless flick of her wrist sent her wand sailing off to the side, and she let go of the brank so that she could cup Sirius' face in both hands.

She started rubbing his cheeks, and Sirius began to convulse. James watched in horror as blood sprayed out of his friend's mouth, splashing Bellatrix on the face. Strangely enough, she did not seem to care; she just kept caressing Sirius' face as he tried desperately to pull away from her, gasping and screaming. There were still tears running down his face, and had James not seen them himself, he would not have believed that they were there. There had been so few times that he had seen Sirius let tears fall that it was hard to believe, but Sirius was clearly in too much pain to stop them.

Again, James scrambled to his feet, trying to think of something, of _anything_ that would distract Bellatrix. He'd always banked on being smart, where was all his vaunted intelligence now? He couldn't even outthink a woman whose mental capacity was questionable at best. He systematically came up with and shot down half a dozen different ideas, all while cursing himself for taking so much time.

Finally throwing reason to the wind, he jumped forward and landed a kick in the small of Bellatrix's back. The blow pitched her forward slightly, but she twisted and kept her balance, not moving away from Sirius at all. Immediately, James knew that had been a mistake. The playful air dropped away instantaneously as the woman looked up from her prey. Her once laughing eyes darkened ominously.

"That was not wise, James."

_James_. Driven by instinct, he backed up a step both glad that he had her attention but at the same time terrified of what that meant, especially when she reverted to his proper name. Bellatrix stood up, and her arm shot out to catch James by the shoulder. Amazed that he had succeeded at distracting her at all, James faltered, and let her drag him towards the door. He did not fight; he only prayed that Bellatrix would be angry enough to concentrate on him instead of Sirius. However, she did not open the door as he expected, only threw him against it and held him there, knocking the air out of his chest. James coughed once and then tried to refocus, his mind still reeling over the fact that he'd been able to distract her at all_. It worked!_ Surprise kept him from noticing right away, but the pain registered soon enough. The bars were hot, hotter than the chains of the Interrogation Chair, hotter than anything James had ever willingly touched. It burned, and he knew that if he didn't get off of it, it would sear straight into his flesh.

"That was to show you," Bellatrix snarled. "It wouldn't _do_ if you didn't understand." She dropped him and turned her attention back to Sirius.

"Leave him alone!" The words he'd said so often in the last ten days had exactly the same effect as they always did: nothing.

"No. Watch and learn, Jimmy. Watch and learn what your stubbornness buys him. What your defiance buys him. Watch, learn, and know that were it not for your silence, he would not be suffering."

Hauling Sirius up by the brank, she lifted him straight into the air. "He's so light, you know. Hardly any weight to him. Like a feather, or a doll. Did you ever play with dolls, Jimmy? They're ever so much fun. Though this one is far better than your average doll. It comes with real blood and tears and it even screams, if you play with it just right." To illustrate her point, she ran a finger through the blood and tears that were still streaming down Sirius' face. Her finger dragged over his cheeks, and he let out a strangled sound that would have been a scream had he the strength.

Slamming his frail body against the door of the cell and making Sirius wheeze for air, the Dark Lord's golden child suspended Sirius in the air while she set to work elaborately binding him to the bars. No limb escaped her notice. His arms were bound where they fell at awkward angles, his legs secured from hip to ankles, his chest and waist tight against the bars, and even his neck was bound tightly enough that Sirius could hardly breathe. A long moment passed before James realized exactly what she was using to bind his best friend.

The material looked much the same as it always had before, except it was entirely different. It was more of a thick and twisted wire than it was a chain, and there were sharp spikes studding the entire length of wire. Everywhere that the spikes dug into Sirius' skin, blood started to well up and drip until there was an intricate web of it flowing down his body. The flow only grew heavier as Bellatrix yanked the barbed wire tighter. Sirius moaned weakly.

"When will you stop this?" she asked, half-turning to face James. "When will you take him away from me? You have the power to do it. It doesn't take very much. You have it in you, you know. You think you don't, but you do. And I think you're starting to realize that." She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose.

"Burning flesh. What a horrid stench." She opened the door, clearly amused when Sirius swung with it. Walking through, taking one last chance to stroke her cousin's face, and the last thing James heard as she vanished down the corridor was her laughter at Sirius' desperate attempt at a screech.

James was on his feet even before the echoes of laughter died down.

"Sirius. Oh, Sirius. I'm so sorry. So sorry." But it was no use. Sirius couldn't hear him. Didn't know he was there. James wanted to reach out a hand to touch his friend, to reassure him, but his hands were still locked behind him. Besides, he didn't know where he could touch anymore. Clearly, his friend's face was now off limits, and Lord only knew what else had been done in his absence.

Slowly, James backed up, hating himself for every step, but he needed to put distance between Sirius and himself. He didn't register that he'd hit the wall until his steps no longer carried him back. Falling into a corner, James stared at Sirius, wishing he could help, and knowing he _could_ and _wouldn't_.

Sirius would tell him not to do it. Sirius _had_ told him not to do it ten days ago. And he'd listened. And he'd watched as Sirius drew closer and closer to death. He knew he could not go back on the promise he'd made all those days ago, knew he could not betray those he protected. But _Sirius_. If only there were a way to save him that did not involve becoming a traitor, did not involve breaking despite his oath not to break.

Sirius moaned softly, the first noise he'd made since his cousin had left. The bars were searing his back, his arms, his legs, his head. The wire conducted heat all too well, and was beginning to glow from it. James closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. He just couldn't do it. Not any more.


	13. Interlude Two

**Interlude Two**

Three days past the week deadline, Lily decided to tell Harry the truth. The pitying looks she'd been receiving from most of the Minister's visitors had finally worn her down, and she had snapped at Cornelius Fudge, telling him exactly what she thought of his oh so well meant condolences. He would try to make her life miserable for it, but she couldn't care. Not now. At the moment, additional misery was a relative concept.

When she had informed Dumbledore of her plans, he had offered to accompany her to Hogwarts, claiming he had business with the Headmaster. So at four o'clock, when the Minister's office officially closed for the day, Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore Flooed to Hogwarts. Just stepping into the fire made her heart thud with dread, but Lily had made her choice. Harry _deserved_ to know, and he was eleven. Parents could hide horrible truths from three-year-olds, but Harry was a Hogwarts student now, and he knew what war was. He also knew his father's role in this one, and always had.

_It's now or never_. Climbing out of the headmaster's fireplace, Lily was greeted with a hug and Dumbledore a solemn handshake.

"I don't suppose you've heard anything?" Remus asked. The look on his face made it plain that he already knew the answer but needed confirmation. For a moment, the solemn blue eyes met Lily's, and their thoughts were identical. _Anything but this._

"Arabella's still doing everything she can, but it's been ten days..." She took a deep breath. Best to get the words out before breaking down. "Harry needs to know the truth," Lily said softly, sitting down in a chair and resisting the urge to bury her head in her hands. Harry needed her to be strong.

"He should be in his dormitories. I can go get him," Remus said gently, squeezing her shoulder. Never before had she been so thankful for this quiet friend of James', who her classmates had once thought off, but Lily knew to be one of the world's best men. "There's tea if either of you would like some."

"Thank you, Remus. However, when you return from fetching young Mr. Potter, I do think you and I need to take a walk," Dumbledore stated calmly. Seating himself next to Lily, Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea. His appearance was calm, but she could see the difference in his eyes-there was something deeply concerned behind the crystal blue and calm façade, something that made Lily shiver. Remus obviously saw it, too, but he nodded and left.

--oo--

Gryffindor Tower had been unnaturally silent ever since the article had been run in the _Daily Prophet_. Even Fred and George Weasley had been subdued, playing only one prank on their brother Percy for pestering them. The rest of the Misfits, however, had simply been there for Harry, offering silent support when words weren't necessary. He was grateful for it, really, even though he knew he was bad at showing it.

The first year boys' dormitory was especially quiet. Harry sat on his bed flipping through the photo album his parents had given him on his eleventh birthday so that he would always have something to remind him of them nearby. He refused to cry though, because eleven-year-old boys didn't cry. Besides, his father was still alive. Everything would be okay as long as his father wasn't dead.

The door opened and his fellow first year Neville Longbottom came in to the room, dropping his book bag at the end of his own bed.

"'Lo, Harry," Neville said softly, dumping his school robes on the floor and pulling on a sweater.

"How do you do it, Neville?" Harry asked suddenly, photo album carefully put aside.

"How do I do what?" Neville asked, confused.

"Pretend like everything's okay? Your dad's there, too. He's been there a lot longer than mine. But you... you just act like everything is fine, and that he's going to send you a letter tomorrow morning at breakfast that will make you laugh so hard you'll spray Hermione with pumpkin juice. How can you act like that?" Harry asked, despair mixed with desperation lacing his voice. The emotions made his tone higher pitched than usual, but he couldn't care, even if it would have made Malfoy laugh. Neville was quiet for a moment.

"I don't really know. I just do, because I know my dad would want me to. He was doing his job. Mum, Gran, and I have always known what the risks were. And I know that Mrs. Figg is working really hard on trying to find a way to get him out of there. Most of the time it's easy enough to pretend that he's just on some secret mission and can't write to us," Neville replied, trying to sound casual, but the pain was just as evident in his voice. So was the strain that Harry had never noticed before. _How did I miss that?_

"Everyone keeps giving me these looks like he's dead. I hate it!" Harry snapped, unable to help himself.

"I know. But you get used to it after a while, and Professor Snape never does. It's kind of funny, isn't it? He just keeps treating you the same, even if it is horrible. At least he's not acting like we're made of glass or something." Neville knew it wasn't helping much, but he understood how Harry felt and clearly wanted to do what he could.

There was silence again before someone knocked on the door and it opened. Both boys jumped up when they saw the headmaster standing at their door, vividly aware of how messy their room was.

"Professor Lupin, has something happened?" Neither boy wanted to consider why the headmaster had personally come to their room, and a million terrible things floated through both their minds. Two in particular.

"No, nothing happened," Remus said softly. "Your mother is here, Harry. She needs to speak with you." He paused, then Harry could see the 'Professor Lupin' face return. "I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Longbottom," he said calmly.

Neville, on the other hand, collapsed down on his bed, face pale. Harry had always thought him nervous, or maybe even a little dense, but he understood the other boy. For the first time. For today, at least, his fears hadn't come true. He could hope a little longer-even when it hurt to hope. Harry waved a little to his friend before following the headmaster out of the Tower, trying to ignore the curious and sympathetic stares coming from every direction.

"It's something bad, isn't it," Harry stated softly, noticing the pained look on the face of his father's friend.

"Your mother will explain it to you, Harry. From there, you can decide for yourself," Professor Lupin replied. The remainder of the walk was silent, but the stares continued.

--oo--

Remus watched the older wizard carefully as they wound their way through corridor after corridor, seemingly moving with the same aimless nonchalance only children could possess. _Children and Dumbledore, that is_, he thought to himself, smiling slightly despite the situation. The thought helped a little to lift the heavy weight off his heart, and Remus was immediately grateful for Dumbledore's presence. No matter what the Minister's purpose in coming was, this one lighter moment made everything worth it.

Finally, as they strolled though a deserted hallway, Dumbledore spoke.

"I would not be here, Remus, if I did not think coming was of the utmost importance," the old man said softly. "Even Lily...Lily does not need me here. But you do."

Remus started. "Me?"

"Yes. And so does Hogwarts." Blue eyes-worriedly not twinkling-drifted around, seemingly taking in everything: every painting on the wall, every bit of dust on furniture, every chip of old paint. "Now, more than ever."

There was an odd moment of silence, but somehow, Remus could not interpret the words to mean that Dumbledore would stay. He could not; they both knew that-and despite the wistful edge in his voice, both knew he did not want to. Minerva McGonagall's death had ripped the soul out of him, ending in driving him away from the thing he loved most. In the end, her murder had made Dumbledore want to wrap himself, his life, around something else...and that something else had been the world. He loved Hogwarts, of course, and always would...but the school no longer held the same place in his life. Hogwarts would always rule his heart, but the former headmaster could never stay. Still, the melancholy acceptance in his voice frightened Remus.

"Albus?"

"Yes, Remus?" There was no hesitation before the reply, but something sad filled Dumbledore's eyes.

He kept his voice soft. "Why have you come?"

"I already answered that, dear boy." A shadow of the old twinkle sparked but faded just as quickly; Remus immediately understood that it was forced. Fear threatened to make his heart pound faster-nothing disturbed Dumbledore like this—but he kept the emotion ruthlessly in check.

"No, you didn't," the headmaster replied evenly, trying to smile slightly. "And I'm hardly a boy."

"Compared to me?" Finally, the old man's smile was real. He chuckled. "Everyone is."

"You're sad."

"Sad?"

Remus shot him a significant look. "Yes."

"So I am," Dumbledore sighed. "But perhaps not for the reasons you believe. Still...Hogwarts does need you, and it is high time I stopped avoiding the subject, isn't it?"

"We're going somewhere."

"Somewhere and everywhere," his predecessor confirmed. "But nowhere important."

Interest sparked, Remus followed.

--oo--

Harry was startled to see the Minister of Magic sitting in the headmaster's office with his mother, but he shook his hand and greeted him before both men left. He hadn't thought much of that at first, but suddenly Harry wished that Remus had stayed—being alone with his mother, with her drawn face and tired eyes, was frightening.

"Something happened, Harry. Your father..." His mother had to stop a moment to choke back a sob. But then her face schooled down into nothingness, the heartbroken expression fading away. Unfortunately, her sudden self control frightened him more than that one sob ever could, even though tears still shone in her eyes.

"What about Dad? Remus said nothing happened. What's going on, Mum?" Harry was near frantic, and his mother on the verge of tears wasn't helping him any. A long moment of silence passed before Lily took a deep breath and continued.

"Your father and Mrs. Figg had a plan, to try and get people out of Azkaban. Someone was going to get caught on purpose." Harry felt the color drain out of his face and he sat down abruptly in the chair next to his mother, unable to force his legs to support him. "Your father volunteered. He was only supposed to be gone seven days, and then he'd have a wand and a Port Key that were transfigured for him, and he'd come back."

"But he's not back," Harry stated, his voice dead.

"No, he's not. We don't know what happened, but Mrs. Figg thinks that somehow, Voldemort found out about the wand and the Port Key." The tears were threatening again, but Lily held them back.

"So now Dad's stuck there, all because of some stupid plan. And now they're going to kill him." He wanted to shout, wanted to scream. Especially at his mother.

"Harry... at this point, death might be a mercy for him." Her voice was soft, and she pulled Harry into a tight embrace as he stubbornly tried not to cry. _It's not fair!_ He tried to shove her back, but she held on tight.

Then the dam broke. Tears fell, eleven years old or not. He didn't care. "Why'd it have to be him? _Why_?" Harry finally broke down and shouted, managing to pull away from his mother.

"Who else would you have do it, Harry? Mrs. Longbottom, so Neville would lose both his parents? Or maybe Ron's older brother? Do you think your father could have let anyone else do it, knowing the risks?" He didn't dare look at her face, but Harry could hear the tension in his mother's voice. Immediately, the anger faded from Harry, leaving him feeling empty and lost.

"But why'd _he_ have to do it? It's not fair." Tears were streaming down both their faces now, and Harry let his mother hug him as they both cried together. What else was there to do?

"I know, Harry, but it's what your father would have wanted. And we'll find some way to get him back. We'll figure something out," Lily stated softly, clearly trying to sound confident for his sake. Harry, however, knew differently. He could hear her wishing that she could believe those words, wishing they were true. "Your father is strong. He's going to be okay."

--oo--

_Darkness._

_Screaming._

_Pain._

_James' face contorted. "I can't—"_

_Voldemort's soft laughter. Bone chilling. Spine tingling. Entirely too soft._

_"James..." Another voice, barely recognizable. "Don't..."_

Remus snapped into consciousness, staring up at Dumbledore. For a long time, he could only blink, feeling wet and cold and frightened and unable to move—but then the older wizard helped him to his feet, and Remus managed to shake himself out of it. "Did I fall?" he finally managed to rasp.

His throat was raw and dry. Had he been screaming?

"Not at all," Dumbledore replied seriously. His voice shook a bit. "Not at all."

"What's wrong?" Remus snapped. Breath caught in his throat.

"The Font held you far longer than I expected," the other replied slowly. "I never imagined such a thing could happen, but the Font seemed...almost desperate."

"Desperate?"

Remus shivered. He was naked, he suddenly realized, and freezing cold. A glance downward showed him that the rainbow of colors in the Font was still swirling, swirling, twisting and turning. The power looked warm and inviting, almost comforting, but then he remembered the visions. Dumbledore had warned him—hadn't he?—but nothing had prepared Remus for the sheer power of the images flashing through his mind. James' face simply would not fade away.

_"Leave him alone!"_

_Laughter._

_Dementors everywhere. Bellatrix Lestrange leading someone—James?—through them by the hand. James was pale and heartbroken looking, sickly miserable—_

"As if you were the only thing the Font ever wanted," Dumbledore whispered, breaking through the vision. He also looked startled, but shook his head vehemently. "But I am sure I am just imagining it."

"If you're not?" Remus had to ask.

"I am," the other replied firmly. "I am."

--oo--

Frank sat quietly, tracing his fingers against the stone floor for want of something better to do. The screams had changed, somehow, over the past week-never before had he heard the oldest prisoner (for they somehow all knew he was the longest lasting of them all) scream that way. Never with such heartbreak, or with such pain.

One learned to differentiate between the screams after a while; they were, after all, just an extension of a prisoner's voice. That was always how they knew when someone new had arrived, and someone new had. This one, however, frightened Frank more than the others, because he thought he already recognized the new, yet rare, set of screams. He knew this one. Had for years. The pitch was just so, the volume just right... This was a friend. A fellow Auror. A hero.

He'd known immediately what James had to be there for, and had known immediately when his mission had failed. That wasn't because Frank knew James so well that he could read his mind, it was just that he knew how Aurors worked, and he could hear the broken quality to the cries now, no matter how rarely they were uttered.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he whispered to the universe, well aware of the fact that the universe wouldn't listen. It never did.

There was, of course, no response, but that was standard operating procedure for Azkaban. After so long, he should have been accustomed to the quiet, to the loneliness, but he supposed one could never be. Not with the nightmares that arrived every night.

Even with those nightmares, however, there was hope. Hope that the Wizarding world wouldn't leave its greatest hero to rot, wouldn't let _James Potter_ suffer any longer. They needed him, and everyone knew it, especially Voldemort. So when that day came, Frank would be ready to do what he could and help in any way possible. Maybe the Aurors would even succeed this time, would even manage to rescue that oldest prisoner who no one recognized at all.

Screams again, from the old one. Quiet and pained now, and somehow not broken.

Was that James' voice in the background?

* * *

**Authors' Note: **Be proud, folks! We managed to get this one up in about a month. That may just be a record for us! Sadly, life has picked up again with two of us in school and the third floating around with the Navy. Things should really start to pick up soon though, so hang in there! And always, please review. It makes us happy and we get much joy out of the things you say to us. 


End file.
